


Somewhere We Belong

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Misunderstandings, Poor Dean Winchester, Rich Castiel, Separations, team switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Cas Novak is a successful man who can’t seem to accomplish one specific thing: letting go of the man who broke his heart when he left with no explanation.Five years ago he’d met Dean Winchester, a groundskeeper at his parents’ country club, purely by chance. Despite the obvious differences in their backgrounds, a fateful fireworks display on the Fourth of July takes their relationship to a new level. But just before Cas plans to introduce Dean to his family, he disappears with no explanation and only a single text: “Don’t seek me out anymore, Cas.”Now, years later, a chance meeting will open the door for a lot of painful truths to be revealed, and another Fourth of July declaration might just be the thing that can bring them back together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Love and thanks to everyone in the Unicorn Paddock for being the best cheerleaders:  
> [A_Diamond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond), [starespressos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos), [whichstiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel),  
> [teacass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass), and the hardest working beta in the entire SPN fandom, [superhoney](http://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney). This story is dedicated to all of them.
> 
> Last, but not least, art for this challenge was done by  
> [imtoobiforyou](https://www.tumblr.com/search/imtoobiforyou) and I can't say enough about how wonderful she was to work with. Not only was she a bundle of sheer joy in all our interactions, but every time she had something new for me to see I was overwhelmed. It says a lot when a writer can't find the words to describe how much impact something has on them. You'll all see for yourselves soon enough! Please be sure to heap her with praise, she deserves it ALL. 
> 
> It's also her birthday, so be sure to say 생일 축하 to her!
> 
> The art masterpost can also be found [here](https://imtoobiforyou.tumblr.com/post/172571649469/my-deancas-pinefest-2018-art-check-out)!

_May, 2017_

Castiel Novak has a habit of arriving at the office not long after sunrise every Monday morning, eager to open things up and get the week started. It might seem unusual to most people, but most people aren’t the head of a non-profit that they'd built from the ground up, and Castiel can't help but feel eager to get started with every new week. 

He enters the vestibule of the building where their office is housed and goes up to the security desk.

"Morning, Frank," he says. "They had that jelly you like so much today." He holds the box of donuts in his left hand over the desk, and the guard opens the lid and shakes his head, reaching in to snag his favorite pastry from the bakery up the street.

"Now, see, this is why you're my favorite tenant in this building."

"Because I know the value of a bribe?"

" _Exactly_ that reason," Frank says, chuckling as he leans back in his chair, and Castiel grins as he heads towards the elevator. No one else is in the building, so he has the car to himself as he rides up to the fourth floor, turning right in the still dark corridor as he makes his way to the very end of the hall and opens the door to their office space with practiced ease. 

After he logs into his computer he idly twists the ring on his right finger as the machine boots up, but stops as soon as he becomes aware of what he’s doing He's long had this habit but it's been worse of late, ever since he broke up with Inias two weeks ago. Sighing to himself, he goes out to fire up the coffee machine, chastising himself as he always does for his inability to let things go. 

He's halfway through his email inbox when he hears the commotion that heralds the arrival of his staff, unsurprised when the first one in the door is Charlie, turning on the lights in the main office area as she enters. 

"One of these days I want to be the first one here," she says as she leans against the doorframe, pulling the strap of her messenger bag over her head and dropping it to the floor beside her. Her diminutive frame belies the magnitude of her actual presence, though her bright red hair and easy smile are like an advertisement for the lovable spitfire within. 

"It could happen," he replies with a grin.

"Not unless we find a good reason for you to stay in bed," she counters. "I had such high hopes for Inias, but I guess he was letting us _both_ down in that department."

"Well, obviously I broke up with him more because of how disappointed _you_ were. You know how much I want to make you happy." She laughs as she pushes off the door frame, grabbing her bag off the floor and heading out to her own desk.

"That's just because you've known since freshman year that my happiness is the key to your own!" she calls over her shoulder, and he chuckles to himself because it's true.

Charlie has been a steadfast friend ever since they met, and came on board when he was still trying to put the pieces together for this organization after college. He knows most of their triumph these last few years is her doing. They're only as successful as their media outreach, and he knows she deserves the credit for all of that. He's better with all the behind the scenes work: sifting through the requests that come in, deciding which ones need the most help, how much resource allocation they should get. 

They've been at this for a long time now, and though Charlie is his best friend and his business partner neither of them have been able to find a life partner that suits them. She can't seem to find the nerd girl of her dreams, and he is constantly looking to replace something he once had but has never been able to find again. Inias was a wonderful man, funny and sweet, but once he started to get serious Castiel felt himself pulling away. He doesn't want to -- he wishes he could move on more than anything -- but he can't seem to force himself past the memory of single summer: the resigned acceptance of an unexpected betrayal, the disappointment of love gone awry, the severing of family ties that were once dear to him. 

He's spent the last five years making all his other dreams into realities, but he feels like this one will always elude him. 

Leaning back in his chair, he starts twisting the ring on his finger again, lost to memories of a time he wishes he could forget. In six weeks it will be Independence Day and he knows he's always worse then, so perhaps he should have expected his retreat from Inias. 

He gets up from his desk and goes out to the kitchenette to get a cup of coffee and a donut, pushing away those thoughts like he's grown accustomed to doing. He's got work to do here in the present -- they're about to expand their operation from Boston to a new office on the west coast -- and there just isn't time for wallowing. The past is the past, and he resolved a long time ago not to keeping living in it. Maybe it will be different this year, in a different state, a different coast. Maybe this year he can finally get through that day without dreaming about Dean.

Wednesday afternoon, Charlie knocks on the doorframe to get his attention before she flops into one of the visitor chairs. 

"Did you finish making the arrangements?" she asks, and he runs a hand through his hair as he looks at the different piles strewn across his desk.

"Yes, I printed out our itinerary, uh..." he lifts a couple of stacks, finally finding the sheets he's looking for under the newest proposals. "Our flight leaves at midnight Saturday, and I've got us booked into one of the airport hotels until we find a place to live.” 

"It's too bad we can't live with Naomi," Charlie pouts, and Castiel can't help but laugh at her expression. She had bonded with Castiel's grandmother long ago, practically worshipped the woman, and Charlie has no family of her own. Naomi Novak-Shurley had practically adopted her, so when she'd moved to the west coast a year ago it didn't surprise him that Charlie had been the one to suggest that they think about expansion. Castiel had capitulated with hardly any fuss, and it was only afterwards that Charlie confessed she'd gone so far as to prepare an entire presentation to argue the 'viability of a bi-coastal presence' for their fledgling organization, just in case he proved difficult to sway.

Unfortunately, Naomi lived in a luxury retirement community, a poor place for a couple of twenty-somethings to inhabit as they tried to open their west coast offices. She'd chosen California because she wanted a warmer climate and her other favorite grandchild lived there, his cousin Gabriel. Castiel could never figure out why she liked the two of them the best, given that they were practically polar opposites: Castiel always polite and reserved with people he didn't know, Gabriel bawdy and loud with strangers and friends alike. 

"I'm sure we can find someplace close by, and we'll be able to see her all the time," he says warmly, and Charlie smiles. "No doubt Gabriel will make time for us, too." 

"He already has!" she says excitedly. "We're taking them both out to dinner on Wednesday night, I already made the reservations." 

"I should have known," he says, smiling as he leans back in his chair, enjoying the small thrill he always gets as it tips all the way back, that little jump in your gut when you think this might be the time it tips over. Castiel lets the chair dangle back as he looks at the ceiling, thinking. "Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" he asks, hesitantly. "I mean, we've lived here for ten years more or less, we have lives here."

"What lives?" she responds, turning sideways in the chair to dangle her legs over the arm. "I spend all my free time playing video games, avoiding grocery shopping, and getting into one short term fling after another with girls I meet online. You've had two relationships in the last five years, and when you're not dating someone you're like a monk. What, exactly, are we going to miss out on leaving Boston? The traffic is horrendous, the winters are insanely cold, and I never, ever, want to experience another Snowmageddon."

"Davio's." 

"Oh, you bastard, don't you dare pull the Davio's card on me. I've already come to terms with our separation."

He adjusts his center of gravity so that his chair moves back into normal position and rests his arms on the desk, grinning at her. 

"Fine. It will be your responsibility for find us a new favorite restaurant, then."

"Duh. What the hell do you think dinner Wednesday night is _for_? I have to start somewhere."

He's grinning and thumbing at the ring on his finger as he shakes his head at her, so he doesn't notice that her eyes are drawn to the movement.

"Have you considered..." she starts but hesitates, and he tilts his head at her quizzically before realizing where she's looking. He clenches his fists together to make himself stop. "We won't be far from Stanford, you know. It's entirely possible that he'd be in the area, close to his brother, if he’s still going to school there. If you'd just let me..."

"No, Charlie." He tries to say it firmly, but he fails, and there's a pleading note in his voice instead. 

"Don't you _no_ me, Castiel," she says, getting out of her chair. "You need closure to this if you're ever going to move on with your life. The fact that you're still romanticizing him, wearing his ring all the time, despite what he _did_ to you..."

"He had no choice, Charlie, I told you that."

"Bullshit," she says forcefully. "There's always a choice, Castiel. People who say they had 'no choice' just mean they made the one that had less consequences for them but need to alleviate their guilt about it."

"Charlie," he says, and this time there's steel in it. "He chose his _brother_. How can you hate him for putting his own brother first?"

She flips her hair back and crosses her arms, but he can see her face crumble despite her body language.

"Because he didn't choose _you_ , Cas, and you're like a brother to me." 

He stands up and comes around the desk to wrap his arms around her, and though she doesn't uncross her arms he feels her small frame relent into his embrace regardless.

"That's how you feel about me, despite the fact that we didn't grow up together and you didn't give up your own childhood to raise me, protect me, give me a future. Can't you see how much what you feel would have been magnified for him?" He rocks her slightly in place, breathing softly into her hair, and she finally huffs in defeat.

"I just wish you could move on," she says, unhooking her arms to press against his chest and look up at him. "First Balthazar, although I admit he was all wrong for you, then Inias, who was practically perfect in every way. No one is ever going to supplant him in your heart until you get some kind of closure, Cas."

"I know," he says, releasing her to go back to his chair, falling into it wearily. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay," she says softly. "Don't come home too late, okay? You said we could order Indian tonight. I've been craving aloo gobhi all day." 

"I won't." She nods, turning to grab her stuff and go, and as the outer door shuts behind her he puts his face in his hands, feeling the hard bronze of the ring against his temple.

Nearly a week later, Castiel wakes up in the middle of the afternoon in a California hotel room. At least, it feels like the middle of the afternoon, but as he checks his watch on the nightstand he sees that it's actually just after noon in Pacific time. He rolls onto his back, stretching, enjoying the still crisp bed sheets that he'd hardly taken the time to appreciate when they'd checked in hours ago. He rubs his face before peeking at the bed next to him, but Charlie is still sound asleep for the moment. He climbs out as quietly as he can, setting up the room's coffee maker and then grabbing what he needs to take a long, hot shower.

By the time he comes out fifteen minutes later, rubbing his hair with a towel and wearing fresh boxer briefs and a t-shirt, the siren smell of coffee has roused Charlie from slumber. She leans against all the pillows up against the headboard, sipping from her cup as he makes one for himself and then climbs back into his own bed as he drinks it. He grabs the TV remote, looking for the news.

"We slept through free breakfast, but there's a restaurant in this hotel where we can eat whenever we get up. Italian."

"Now you're just twisting the knife," she says dejectedly as he settles on a channel.

"You'll get to have a last fling with Davio's when you go back home to make the final arrangements, don't worry."

"Now that we're here, I have to tell you something a little delicate," she says, placing her coffee cup on the shared nightstand and turning towards him. He gives her a quizzical look as she sits cross-legged, looking serious and somber. "You should know that Naomi shared something with me in confidence. Not because she wants to keep secrets from you, or go behind your back, but it's a sensitive subject and she wanted my advice. We decided that it would be easier coming from me."

He tenses up immediately, though he tries to keep his face blank. There's only one subject that he and his grandmother never discuss, because even though she respects and understands his decision, she couldn't make the same choice. 

"It's about my father, isn't it?"

"Yes," she says, avoiding his eyes and smoothing the sheets beside her. "He has a residence out here now, and he's been spending more and more time in it. She thinks he may move here permanently, too, but she didn't want it to color your decision. She's afraid you'll think her selfish because she didn't want to choose between you."

"She knows I never expected her to."

"Yes, but it was easy when you lived near her in Boston and he lived out in Colorado. Now with you both in close proximity, it's going to be hard to keep you out of each other's orbit."

Castiel sighs. He doesn't want Naomi to be stressed out at her age, but his father's betrayal is a wound that's never really healed. 

"Did the two of you come up with an action plan?" he asks, but she shakes her head.

"You know we wouldn't make decisions about your life for you, not like he did. It's just important you know the probability is high that you'll have to interact with Chuck eventually."

"We haven't spoken to each other since the day I left home," he says dully, still remembering all the words that were said that day, "and I haven't laid eyes on him since our graduation." He thinks about the obligatory, awkward hug he'd allowed Chuck to give him that day, neither of them acknowledging their fractured relationship, already strained beyond repair. "I can try and tolerate his presence, but I don't think I have it in me to forgive him. Not even for Naomi's sake."

"I know. I don't even think she expects it of you, but..."

"But?"

"He's been asking her to intervene on his behalf more and more lately. She says he seems desperate to fix things between you."

"Oh, Charlie. I don't know if that's possible."

It's _not_ possible, he thinks, given all the ways that his life has been adversely affected by his father's actions. A few deliberate pen strokes, and Chuck had changed his life forever without permission. 

Charlie gets out of the bed and leans over to kiss the top of his head, her fingers stroking through his still damp locks before she steps away to rummage through her luggage. 

"You don't have to decide right now. We have other things to get done here, so let's focus on those and not worry about anything else unless we have to. I'm going to take a shower, and then we'll go eat. That's what we can accomplish at the moment, so let's just do that." 

He closes his eyes and exhales loudly through his nose before he nods, and doesn't open his eyes again until he hears the water come on in the bathroom. He turns his head to look at the items on the nightstand, the things that are always on his person: sleek leather wallet, even sleeker watch, expensive cell phone, car keys. And in the center of it all, a cheap bronze ring that doesn't match any of it, stamped with Latin and weighing him down more than everything else.

It's Wednesday, and Cas is tired of meetings with lawyers and property agents. Things are looking up, though, because there's a house they looked at this morning that they both find suitable, and yesterday there was a promising office space that would suit their needs perfectly. Thankfully they only have one law firm to meet with today, and then he and Charlie will have a spectacular dinner with Gabe and Naomi, whom he hasn't seen in months.

Charlie gives him the firm's background as he navigates the streets, then pulls into a parking lot across the street from the building they want.

"This is a much older firm than the others we met with this week, established in the fifties, and they specialize exclusively in nonprofit and charitable organizations law," she reads off her tablet. "They have really great client reviews, but I was drawn to them because they also have fantastic peer-to-peer reviews, and a lot of them." 

"That's a good sign," he says. "Nobody's a harsher critic of your work than those in the same profession." 

They park and carefully cross the street, then walk around the corner to the building entrance. They sign in at the front desk with a sweet-faced woman named Missouri, who hands them security badges and directs them to the elevator with a big smile.

"That is the least threatening security guard I've ever had the pleasure to encounter," Charlie whispers as she presses the button.

"That's only because I'm not threatened by you, Miss Bradbury," the guard calls out from twenty feet away behind her desk. "I can give the smackdown when it's required." 

Cas laughs heartily as Charlie's mouth falls open, and he turns back to give the woman a thumbs up before he ushers Charlie into the elevator. Missouri grins and makes a shooing motion at him, and he smiles all the way up to the top floor as Charlie splutters to herself about 'ears like a bat'. It's not until the elevator reaches their floor that he realizes he's been unconsciously rubbing the ring he wears on his right hand with his thumb. He forces himself to stop, switching his briefcase to that hand instead.

He hates that, years later, some innocuous phrase takes him back to when he got this ring. He hates even more that he still wears it, taking care to keep the cheap bronze dry so it doesn't oxidize, applying clear nail polish to the inside of it when his finger starts to turn green. Inias had asked him about it early on -- about what the Latin phrase stamped into it meant, about why Cas treated something so cheap with such importance -- but his throat had locked up, and he could never find a way to explain.

That was part of the reason Inias would never be the one to make him forget, that maybe no one ever could. Unless being with them made him want to take the ring off and put it in a drawer, he'd never be able to forget the person who gave it to him. 

He follows Charlie out of the elevator, rotating his neck in a stretch, and tries to refocus as they're directed to a conference room. 

"You okay?" she asks, sensing something off about him, and he smiles at her softly. 

"Yeah, just wool gathering," he says, trying to deflect, but he sees her eyes glance at the ring on his hand before she takes a seat, and he realizes he's fidgeting with it again. Fortunately the door opens, sparing him from whatever she might want to say.

"Hello," says the woman who enters. She has light blue eyes and dark hair to frame her friendly smile, and he sees Charlie sit up straighter out of the corner of his eye. "I'm Hannah Johnson, I'm really pleased you've taken an interest in our services." She shakes both of their hands just as someone else comes into the room, a young man even taller than Castiel, who at six feet is no slouch. "This is Sam Winchester," she says as he lays several folders on the table and smiles at them. "He's interning with us for the summer, I hope you don't mind if he sits in?" 

Charlie glances at Cas, but he's frozen as he looks at the kid with long hair, too busy arranging papers on the table to notice him staring. 

"Of course, we have no objection," Charlie says smoothly, but she reaches down to pinch his thigh under the table, and he jumps slightly before clearing his throat and nodding in agreement.

Cas barely hears anything they talk about, because it's the same stuff he's been through several times already this week, and he usually lets Charlie take the reins here. She's done all the research and knows what they're looking for, so he just forces himself to nod in all the right places while he determinedly doesn't look at the intern. He tries to switch his gaze between Charlie and Hannah as though he's following the entire conversation, but it feels like hours go by in the span of twenty minutes. Finally, the meeting comes to an end and everyone rises from the table. 

"Sam will walk you back to the elevator. Thank you both for coming in, I really hope we can be of service to you in the future," Hannah says pleasantly as she shakes their hands again before heading towards the door. Sam gathers up his folders and holds the door for them as they exit and head back in the direction they came from.

"Uh, I hope this doesn't sound like pandering," Sam says as he walks beside them, practically towering over Charlie next to him, "but I've been following the work of your organization for a year now, Mr. Novak, Ms. Bradbury. I really admire the work you're doing." 

"Well, thanks big guy," Charlie says, dropping all professional pretense and giving Sam a light shoulder punch that makes him laugh. "I don't know if non-profit law is the best place for your unique talent, though."

"What, my folder shuffling?" Without realizing it, Sam is scoring big points with Charlie, who hates stuffed shirts and would rather do business with someone who makes her laugh. Cas, for his part, is trying not to bolt down the hallway and bypass the elevator for the stairs, so he hangs back and lets them get a step or two ahead as they chatter.

"Well, the shuffling was marvelous, but I'm talking about the enormous presence on you that would make criminals fall on their knees. If you were prosecuting me for anything I'd probably confess as soon as you stood up to make your opening argument. I bet you have a killer bitch face, too." Sam is laughing outright now as he presses the elevator button for them, and in that moment Cas is absolutely sure of what he'd just suspected before. It reminds him of someone else, that laugh.

They step into the empty car, and he raises a hand to Sam as Charlie waves an enthusiastic goodbye. As soon as the doors close, he drops his briefcase to the floor and leans back against the wall, putting his face in his hands.

"Cas, what is it? What's wrong?" She hasn't made the connection, and why would she? They're over a thousand miles and five years away from the thing that usually lives in his subconscious but has just come screaming to the forefront.

"Sam," he manages, and she gives him a quizzical look as he swallows hard and tries again. "Sam... _Winchester_." Her face doesn't change right away, but he can see the moment it clicks, right as they reach the lobby and the door opens with a chime.

"Holy shit," she says, taking a step back. He just stares at her helplessly, thumbing at the ring on his right hand in nervous agitation.

"It's customary for people to leave the elevator when it gets to the ground floor," a voice calls from the security desk.

"I think it's time you finally let me do some research," Charlie says, grabbing his briefcase and stalking out of the elevator, leaving him to follow helplessly.

"Hey Sam, you home?" Dean calls out as he comes through the front door. He knows Sam isn't actually there, since it's too early for him to be done with work and his car isn't in the driveway, but Dean can't help but call out to him whenever he gets home. It's a habit ingrained into him over two decades, and he can't be bothered to try and break it. He tosses his keys on the kitchen table along with their mail, stripping off his t-shirt as he walks into the bathroom to shower.

Half an hour later, the grime from his day removed from his skin and under his nails, he heads back into the kitchen to start on dinner. It's not until he's got the lasagna layered and into the oven that he allows himself to rifle through the various envelopes on the table, eagerly pulling one out with a return address he recognizes, the envelope thick with folded documents. He opens it carefully, taking a few minutes to review them even though he knows them by heart.

It's his final copy of the agreement that has made him a business partner to Cain Roberts, the man who has employed Dean for the last five years. He smiles happily to himself before re-folding the documents and placing them back in the envelope, resolving to go to the bank and add them to his safety deposit box tomorrow. 

It's a good feeling, knowing that he's earned enough trust and respect from a man who's been as much of a father figure to him as Bobby was back in Colorado. He feels the tiny pang of guilt that always happens when he thinks about that time, of the way he left Bobby -- and something infinitely more important -- behind without a word. At least he'd been able to call Bobby later to explain himself and beg for forgiveness, which was begrudgingly given. 

He can't say as much for the other thing, and he has to place his hands on the counter and breathe through his nose for a few minutes as he lets the regret wash over him. He's just gotten hold of himself again when the front door opens and Sam clatters in. 

"Hey Dean," he says as he drops his briefcase on the coffee table before coming into the kitchen himself. "Wow, smells awesome, is that lasagna?" 

"Yep, good guess," Dean says, turning away to peer into the oven. "How was your day?" 

"Same as always, boring intern shit like coffee fetching and paper shuffling. I had one good meeting today, though, with this non-profit that's looking to expand out here, and they were really cool. The chick with them had a really great sense of humor." He's leafing through the mail, and he spies the thick envelope. "Is that your copy of the agreement?" Sam asks excitedly, and Dean nods. 

"Yeah, I'll head over to the bank tomorrow to put it away for safekeeping."

"That's great, Dean!" his brother says as he pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back before letting him go. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I just got lucky, Sam, you know that." 

"Yeah, I'm sure it's luck that you're such a great guy that Cain wants you to take over when he retires to spend the rest of his life with his bees. It's because you work hard and you earned his respect, and you know it."

Dean shrugs, and Sam just shakes his head before heading into his room to change out of his suit. Dean starts to set the table, but his eyes keep getting drawn back to the envelope, the security of his future. There'd been a time, years ago, when he'd come to California determined to make something of himself, to prove himself worthy to someone in particular. Maybe that hadn't happened, and never would, but he knows he should at least be happy he has value to someone.

Sam returns to the kitchen and Dean shakes himself out of his maudlin train of thought, but of course his brother picks up on his mood even doing something as mundane as cutting lasagna.

"So," he starts as Dean hands him a plate. "You got any plans for the holiday this year?" He raises his eyebrows in a gesture of innocent ignorance, but Dean knows better. Sam knows exactly what he's doing.

"Do you?" He counters, sitting down and digging into his own plate. The food is too hot and he knows he's scalded the roof of his mouth, but he eats a second forkful immediately in defiance. 

"Jess and I are going to an outdoor concert that has fireworks after. You know, like people do on the 4th of July?"

"Good for you, Sam, you're a paragon of the American experience."

"Dean," Sam says, putting down his fork in exasperation. "You'll never get past this if you don't make the effort. You just have to try."

"What if I don't want to get past it?" Dean says in a quiet voice, staring down at his own plate.

"But _why_?" Sam asks for the thousandth time, exasperation plain in his voice. "I don't understand how you can continue to idolize that experience after all this time. He never even tried to _find_ you."

"You know I told him not to."

"I don't _care_ ," Sam spits vehemently as he stands abruptly from the table, taking his dish to the sink and dropping it so hard that Dean flinches at the sound, marvelling that the plate didn't shatter. "If he cared half as much as you do, nothing would have held him back." Dean can't help but flinch a little at that. It's the one thing that still hurts, after all this time, how easily Cas let him go. He knows it was for the best, given the circumstances, but it's never stopped hurting. 

"Sam, you don't know the whole story, okay?"

"What story, Dean? I'll be damned if I can understand what the fuck was so great about Cas Shurley that you're still wearing him around your neck like an albatross."

Sam storms out of the kitchen and Dean hears the door to his bedroom slam a minute later, but he continues to sit at the table alone, staring into space until the lasagna has gone cold and the light starts to fade from the sky.

"This is unbelievable," Charlie says from where she's sitting cross-legged on her bed. 

"I know," Cas responds. He's been lying sideways on his own bed for half an hour with his arm thrown over his face, legs dangling off the side, just wallowing.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world..."

"This is _not_ an appropriate time to quote _Casablanca_."

"Technically I'm quoting Barbra Streisand mis-quoting _Casablanca_ in _What's Up, Doc?,_ but I realize the nuance is probably lost on you."

"How are we even friends?"

"Castiel," she says solemnly, all sense of humor gone from her voice. "Let me just tell you what I've found." 

He sighs and sits up, rubbing his hands on his knees before placing them behind him on the mattress and leaning back. "Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"He's a Stanford graduate, and just completed his second year of law school, also at Stanford." She clicks a couple of keys, no doubt opening up another tab. "He attended Stanford on a scholarship, after graduating high school in Colorado." Cas leans on his knees, rubbing his face before letting his hands drop. 

"I think the likelihood that there's another Sam Winchester fitting that criteria is pretty slim," he says.

"Well, I was afraid you might suggest that so I dug deeper," she says, tabbing into another screen. "Sam Winchester lists his next of kin as one Dean Winchester."

"Fuck," Cas says, flopping back against the mattress again. "I can't believe we met with the guy whose brother broke my heart in the first week we came to this city." 

"There's more," Charlie says tentatively. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"You might as well. Lay it all on me so I have a spectacular reason to get stinking drunk at dinner tonight." Charlie doesn't say anything, so he raises his head to see her biting her lip. "What? Naomi is not going to judge me with _Gabriel_ in the room, of all people." He lets his head fall back on the bed, and Charlie says something but he misses it.

"Speak up, I didn't catch that."

"I said he _lives here_ ," she blurts out, and he sits up like a marionette on a string. "Sam's permanent address listing on his college records is a place outside the city, and the property owner is also Dean Winchester." 

Castiel sucks in a breath but it feels like it's not reaching his lungs. "What?" he manages to croak, and Charlie sighs.

She sets the laptop aside and moves until she's mirroring Castiel's posture on her own bed, lightly kicking his calf. "Maybe this is your chance to get the explanation you deserve, after all this time. Even if it's a shitty explanation, at least you'll know." She sits up, leaning forward to place a hand on his knee. "Maybe all you need to get past this is to get everything you want to say off your chest and throw that ring in his face before you storm off." 

He twists the ring on his finger as he stares off into space, considering, then shakes his head.

"I can't, Charlie."

"Why? Because he told you not to come after him?" He can hear the anger creeping into her voice. "Well, fuck him. I told him once exactly what I would do to him if he hurt you, Castiel, and for five years I've dreamt of a dozen different ways to make him pay. If you won't confront his sorry ass, then _I_ have a few things I want to say to him."

"Please, Charlie," he says, defeatedly. "I know you'll never understand, but I know Dean had good reason for what he did. I can't blame him for making that choice. He hurt me, I'll never deny that. But I _understand_."

She looks at him sadly, and he can't stand the sight of her pity, so he looks away.

"Will you ever stop loving him?" she asks quietly, and he shakes his head defeatedly as he fights off tears.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 2011_

Cas Shurley hates these family outings to the country club, he really does, but he doesn't feel like he can refuse his father's wishes as long as he lives under his roof, and with another year of college left he doesn't have much choice. He suffers through the obligatory lunch with his parents, where their stiff formality is unable to mask their obvious dislike for one another, then gains a reprieve as his mother retreats to the pool and his father heads for the golf course. 

Cas himself heads for the courts with his racket and no real intention of playing tennis, just the desire to get as far away from both of his parents as possible. He would much rather have curled up in the library with a book for the day, but his mother frowned and gave him another lecture on the importance of exercising his body as well as his mind, and that had been that.

He wanders past the courts, determined to find a shady place to hide for the next several hours, whiling away the time until the Shurleys are ready to leave. They've belonged to this club since Cas was a boy, but he's never really explored the edges of it before, never felt such a compulsion to go against his parents’ directive. He's not sure what's triggering his behavior of late but he feels more stifled than usual, more aware of the yoke of expectations around his neck than he ever has. There's something in his mother's haughty expression that rubs him the wrong way, and he keeps wondering if that's a new affectation or if that's how she's always been and he's just never noticed. He doesn't prefer either option.

His father's behavior is definitely different, and he can't pinpoint why Chuck Shurley has changed. Always warm and affectionate towards his only child, he's been distant and withdrawn ever since Cas returned from Boston for the summer, and he can't pinpoint what he's done wrong. He's torn between wanting to confront his father and demand an answer, and giving him space to work out whatever is troubling him, with the hope that he'll eventually take Cas aside and talk to him about it. 

Cas is at the edge of the grounds now, where clusters of trees mark the boundary of the country club and shield the property from outsiders, and he turns to walk along them as he flips the handle of his racket around in one hand idly. Twist and release, catch, twist and release, catch, the movement unconscious but rhythmic and soothing as he wanders along before finding a wonderful spot between a couple of trees. The way the trees grow close together has created a shady little spot that is actually sheltered from the grounds of the club if he sits on the far side, their trunks leaning towards one another as though reaching out to touch and falling just short. He moves into the roomy hollow to sit in the soft grass, leaning back against one of the trunks and closing his eyes, his racket resting across his knees. 

He must have dozed off, because he's startled awake by a sudden noise. He opens his eyes to see a young man, shirtless and dirty but exceptionally handsome despite that. He’s obviously been working hard and sweating in the sun, and Cas can see his t-shirt tucked into the back pocket of his cargo shorts. 

"I'm sorry!" the man says as he starts to back away. "I've never seen anyone in this spot before, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Wait," Cas says, sitting up and holding up a hand. "You don't have to run off!" It's obvious that he's stumbled into someone else's secret hideaway now, and he feels a little guilty about intruding even though there's no way he could have known he was doing so. The other man hesitates, looking back over his shoulder as if he's debating. "I'm sorry I stole your spot. I was just looking for a place to hide from my parents, but I can go elsewhere." He puts a hand down to push himself into a standing position, but the shirtless man seems to come to a decision.

"We can share, if you want?" he says, hesitantly, slowly coming over to sit against the other tree, about three feet away. "I eat here everyday during my break, but there's no reason you have to go if you're hiding out. Unless, uh, the stench of me gets to be too much." Cas laughs a little as he relaxes back against the tree, and the other man gives him a tight-lipped smile as he opens his bag and digs out a sub and a bag of chips.

"Thanks. I'm Cas, by the way," he says, reaching out a hand without thinking. His companion looks a bit startled, but then wipes his hand on the grass beside him before reaching out to shake. 

"I'm Dean," he says, really smiling this time, and Cas feels his heart skip a beat. Dean looks about his age, and much like Cas, is fit without being overly muscled, broad shouldered and tan. He's got on a beat-up baseball cap turned in reverse to shade the back of his neck, and the light brown hair peeking out from it looks drenched with sweat. "Haven't seen you around here before," Dean continues, with a raised eyebrow at Cas's pristine tennis whites. 

"Yes, well. I've never come over this way before," he says, ducking his head as he blushes. He hadn't meant to stare. "My family have been coming here since I was little, but I've always had something to do. Today I just wanted to be left alone, but they wouldn't leave me at home." He plucks idly at the long grass next to him, watching Dean chew his sandwich out of the corner of his eye. "What about you?"

"I eat my lunch here whenever I’m working," Dean says after he swallows his bite. "Been cutting the grass here every weekend for the last several years, and nobody else has ever wandered over here before. Certainly nobody from your neck of the woods." He says it without malice and with half a grin, and Cas finds himself extremely curious to know more about him. 

"And what neck of the woods are you from?" 

"Oh, you know. Wrong side of the tracks and all that."

"I've never understood that phrase. Am I supposed to just know what part of town that is? How do I know which side is the wrong side? I feel like I don't want to be on either side, personally. Trains are dirty, and loud, and..." Cas trails off, staring into the distance, but the sound of Dean laughing outright snaps him back to attention. "What did I say?"

"What was on your mind, apparently," Dean chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. "It's refreshing, actually. A little unexpected. I like it." He smiles softly before taking another bite of his sandwich, and Cas relaxes, smiling shyly in return. 

"I don't often say what's on my mind, I suppose. Not around my parents, anyway. I'll go on, if you promise it'll be our secret?" He's actually surprised at the playful tone he hears in his own voice, almost flirtatious, and for a brief second he panics at what Dean's reaction might be but it's just an enthusiastic nod and a gesture to go on. "Except now I can't seem to think of anything to say," he laments, pulling idly at the strings on his racket.

"Well, my break is only thirty minutes, so you better think of something," Dean says jovially. "Why don't you tell me why you're not using that racket for its intended purpose?"

Cas sighs, twirling it in his hand again before placing it on the ground between them. 

"I don't mind tennis, generally. It can be fun. It's just that I can't stand most of the other people here that play it." He runs a hand through his hair as he changes position, sitting cross-legged and resting his knees on his elbows. "I think I can't stand most of the people who come here, actually."

"Why is that?" Dean asks, turning more directly to Cas as he finishes eating, balling up his sandwich wrapper.

"It's just...they never talk about anything of substance. Like they're all living inside some kind of untouchable bubble where the real world doesn't affect them."

"And you're different?" It could be malicious, but Dean's tone is more curious than anything.

"I guess I'd like to think so. Maybe I'm just as bad as they are and I can't tell? How would I even know?" 

"Well, I'm not an expert or anything, but the fact that you're even asking yourself that question might be a good indicator? I'm sure these other people you're talking about aren't tearing themselves up about whether or not they're assholes." 

Cas can't help the laughter that escapes him, and Dean gives him a one-sided smirk that puts him completely at ease.

"You know, I'd hoped to be left alone when I snuck into the woods but I'm glad I interrupted your lunch. It's far superior talking to you than getting roped into a boring singles game with Dick Roman and listening to him talk about his summer internship with whatever relative is next in the rotation to deal with him." It's Dean's turn to laugh outright now, and Cas feels more relaxed in the twenty minutes he's spent talking to this total stranger than he has since he got home for the summer. 

"Listen, I need to get back to work, but it was nice chatting with you, Cas," says his companion, getting up from the grass and wiping himself off before pulling his shirt on. "If you ever feel the need to escape again, I eat lunch over here every weekend about the same time." 

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, since this is my only escape." Cas smiles up at Dean, trying not to let the hopefulness show on his face.

"Until tomorrow then," Dean replies with a grin of his own, gathering up the detritus of his lunch and sauntering back the way he came. Cas watches him go, raising his hand to wave as Dean looks back over his shoulder before disappearing behind the maintenance sheds. 

He spends another hour or so in the cool shade under the trees, absorbing the quiet, thinking about his new acquaintance. He wonders how Dean will react if he does show up the next day, hiding from his peers at the edge of the country club with a groundskeeper.

 _Well_ , he thinks as he finally gets up and decides to brave the tennis court after all. _There's only one way to find out_.

Dean spends the morning of his Sunday shift in impatient anticipation of his lunch break. He normally doesn’t mind this job, despite how labor intensive it it, because the days pass quickly and it’s nice to be outdoors most of the time. Today, however, seems to be moving at half the pace of any other, and he looks at his watch so often that Rufus notices.

"I'm sorry, are we keeping you from an important appointment, Mr. Winchester? Do you have a pedicure scheduled today?" he asks while they're trimming hedges along the pool fencing. 

"I just missed breakfast so I'm looking forward to lunch, okay?" Dean can tell from the look he gets in return that Rufus isn't fooled one bit, but he manages not to raise his ire anymore for the next hour and a half. 

Dean grabs his sandwich and soda out of the break room fridge on his way out the door, heading for his usual spot. It was a shock to him yesterday when he'd nearly walked into someone else sitting there. He’d been lost in his thoughts and not paying attention, absorbed instead with his mental calculations about how much money Sam would need for school in the fall. 

He'd been taken aback at first, seeing Cas sitting there. Cas was obviously one of _them_ , given the pristine state of the clothing he wore and the tennis racquet he held that Dean knew went for at least three hundred bucks from the times he helped out in the pro shop. Dean also knew from experience that he should never try to socialize with the members, but there was something in Cas's voice that gave him pause. A quiet desperation, perhaps. So he'd thrown caution to the wind and stayed.

Now he finds himself consciously trying not to hurry, hoping against hope that Cas actually _has_ come back. He’s interesting and disarming, and Dean just wants a chance to know more. He rarely gets to talk to anybody but his coworkers and his brother -- and though he often tries to talk to his dad, it’s often obvious that he isn’t listening. 

Most of Dean's life had been spent bouncing around from place to place, following his dad from one odd job to another all across the country. Finally, when his younger brother Sam reached the age to go to high school, Dean begged for them to settle somewhere permanently, to give Sam a chance at a solid future. His father John had begrudgingly agreed, on the condition that Dean "pitch in" until Sam graduated -- and though "pitch in" means that Dean is responsible for eighty percent of the household income and has to work three jobs, he’s never regretted it. He has no social life to speak of, hasn't managed to make any friends outside of work since they moved here, is usually so tired when he gets free time that he spends it sleeping -- but Sam is a straight A student with a solid social life who is going to graduate with honors soon and then head off to college in California. After that, there will be time for Dean to have a life of his own. For now it might be nice to get to know someone, anyone, that he can spend time chatting with about _anything_ else.

So he can’t keep the smile off his face as he approaches his normal spot and sees a figure in tennis whites sitting there, head bent over his expensive racket, deep in thought. Cas stares up at him, a hopeful smile on his face. Dean looks at him more carefully now than he had the day before, when he'd hardly dared. Straight nose, full lips, and a square jaw with a slightly cleft chin are enough to catch Dean's interest, but what stops him in his tracks are Cas's eyes. They catch the dappled light through the leaves, the blue in them striking enough to rival the summer sky, and it’s only when they take on a questioning look that he remembers himself and abruptly sits down.

"Glad you could make it," Dean teases as he unwraps his sandwich, placing it carefully in his lap as he twists the cap off his soda. 

"Well, it was difficult. I have such a full calendar, but I managed to pencil you in for this afternoon," Cas replies without any hesitation, and Dean can’t help but grin at the sardonic tone in his voice.

"I'm so grateful you could take time out of your insane tennis schedule for me," he replies before taking picking up his sandwich. "Oh, uh...I'm sorry, did you want some? I didn't even think to offer yesterday."

"Oh, no. I'm obligated to suffer through lunch with my parents first, so I'm good," Cas says, gesturing for him to eat. 

"Suffer?" Dean queries before he takes a bite, and he can hear Cas's sigh over the sound of his own chewing.

"I can't figure out what's going on with them. My dad and I used to have a great relationship, but he's been distant ever since I came home from school. My mother's never really been...well, warm, I guess? But she's even chillier than usual. So being with the two of them at once is terribly uncomfortable. I don't know how I'm going to get through this whole summer, I really don't." 

"Can't you move out?"

"I wish. I have an apartment back in Boston, where I go to school, but I’m expected to stay with them when I’m here. I don't really have my own money, and they don't feel the need to give me any while they're paying for me to go to school. Which sounds like a pretentious thing to complain about, I know." He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, staring idly out at the edge of the grounds, where the chain link fence surrounded the property. "I probably seem like some kind of Disney princess to you, don't I, complaining about my ‘burdens’," and even though he doesn't move his hands Dean can practically hear the air quotes. He chews thoughtfully for a minute, contemplating.

"Well, Jasmine," he starts, and is rewarded with a slight smile before he looks off into the same direction. "There are a lot of ways that people can be trapped, I suppose, and even a gilded cage is still a cage, no matter how big it is." He takes a swig of his soda, feeling the bubbles burst on his tongue and at the back of his nose before he swallows. 

"What about you, Dean? What's your family like?" Dean blinks rapidly, thrown out of his train of thought. He finishes his sandwich as he stalls for time, but Cas just waits patiently until Dean balls up the wrapper before leaning back against the tree.

"There's just my dad and my little brother Sam. Well, not so little really, he's taller than me now, which is annoying. He's going to graduate high school in a couple of weeks. He got accepted to Stanford, if you can believe that."

"Wow, that's great! What about you, where do you go?" Cas asks, and it's a fair enough question but Dean cringes anyway. 

"I don't, actually. Go anywhere, I mean. I barely graduated high school as it was, and I've worked since then to help around at home. My dad, he, uh, he's," but Dean doesn't really know how to describe exactly what John is. "He's disabled, so he can't work full time." 

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." 

"It's okay. It's been that way for a while, and we manage. We used to move around a lot while Dad looked for work, and I think that's why I had so much trouble in school. When it was time for Sam to go to high school, I got Dad to agree to stay in one place so long as I helped with the household expenses. So I work here on the weekends, and whenever they need help for events if I can."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"Why, are you making plans for my free time?" Dean retorts playfully, and then mentally smacks himself. He shouldn't flirt with someone so far out of his league, especially the kid of some club member who could no doubt get him fired on a whim. He releases a relieved breath when Cas chuckles in response.

"I've already taken over your lunch break with little to no resistance, shouldn't be too hard." The half grin he delivers this with makes Dean's heart beat a little faster, and he thinks there are probably a lot of other things he'd put up very little resistance to if Cas should suggest them.

"Well, if you want to keep putting in the hours I guess I'll see you here next weekend for lunch, too," Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant instead of hopeful and failing miserably. 

"I suppose you'll find out," Cas says, and suddenly Dean would give anything not to have to go back to work, because he thinks it would nice to spend the afternoon here in the late spring shade with his newfound friend.

Cas finds himself out at the edge of the country club grounds again that weekend at the same time, and the weekend after that, enjoying his short interludes with Dean as late spring turns to early summer. Dean's experiences are so different from Cas's, and he listens with rapt attention as Dean tells stories of places they visited while he was a kid, traversing the country with his brother and his dad. Cas feels slightly guilty when he realizes how much more _life_ Dean seems to have lived compared to him, though he ostensibly has the means. He wonders sometimes what it would be like to experience these places with Dean, and then brushes those thoughts aside. Just because Dean tolerates Cas for company on a summer afternoon doesn't mean he wants to be part of his life.

Dean also talks about his brother Sam, of how proud he is of him, unable to contain his joy as he gives Cas a full rundown of his graduation ceremony the third weekend they meet up. He wishes he'd had the experience of a sibling, someone who'd grown up in the same house that he could talk to. He has a few cousins that he likes, but none of them live near enough for him to have gotten close to. 

By the fourth weekend Cas knows he wants to spend more time with Dean, more than just this hour they talk each weekend, but he doesn't know how to ask. Dean is extremely attractive, with sensual lips and skin tanned warm gold from days spent in the sun, and Cas wonders what it might be like to be able to look his fill. He doesn't allow his gaze to linger when they're sitting under the trees, afraid he'll give too much of himself away. Instead he finds himself indulging every night as he goes to sleep, piecing together all the small looks he snuck at Dean over that weekend, like tiny sips from a tumbler of strong whiskey. 

It's more than physical, though, because he finds himself hanging on every word Dean has to say. He's always been terrible at showing interest in others, and if not for drunken nights and some very forward people on his own college campus he might still be a virgin. He never felt as though he wanted more from any of those encounters, though, never found himself looking forward to seeing that person again just to hear what they had to say. 

Dean, though. He would listen to words fall from Dean's lips for days if he had the time, just watching the shape of his mouth form sentences as his green eyes twinkled. He forces himself to look away today, this fourth Sunday that they've met under the trees to chat during Dean's lunch, and train his gaze on a point in the distance.

"You getting tired of listening to me ramble on, Cas?" Dean asks teasingly. 

"I never get tired of you, Dean," he says with a smile. Dean's told him a great deal about his brother and his childhood, but there are still so many things about him that Cas wishes he knew how to ask.

"I can't imagine why, Cas. You must have way more fascinating things going on in your life than talking to a sweaty groundskeeper every weekend." 

Cas looks at him fully at that, and their eyes lock. 

"I wish it weren't just for your lunch every weekend," he says before he can stop himself. He's resolved not to panic, but it's a tense moment. Dean registers surprise, then interest, than disappointment, and Cas can feel each one like a fiery brand in his stomach.

"Yeah, about that," Dean says, finally breaking their gaze and looking down at the grass. "I, um, I don't really have much free time. I work a lot." Cas feels like there's more that Dean's not saying, and while he might not enjoy an outright rejection it might be for the best, to help him nip this obvious crush he's harboring right in the bud.

"Sorry," he says, also looking away. "You're obviously not obligated to just because you're letting me hide in your secret spot." He bends his knees and wraps his arms around them, unable to help the vulnerability he suddenly feels, pulsing and raw like he's six years old again instead of twenty. 

"Hey, no, it's not that I don't _want_ to!" Dean says forcefully, reaching out to touch Cas on the shoulder even as he buries his head in his knees. "It's just that I have three jobs, I wasn't making up the lack of free time." The hand is warm through the sleeve of his polo shirt, and there's a reassuring squeeze that makes him turn his head to look at Dean again, nothing on his face now except sincerity. He knows he probably shouldn't pry, but he can't seem to help himself.

"Why so many?" he asks with a twinge of guilt, since the money waiting in his trust fund could probably support Dean and his family a hundred times over for life. Dean drops his hand and adjusts his position, turning to face Cas as he leans on his left knee, his other leg extended out before him. There's a flush creeping up his neck as though he's embarrassed, and he doesn't make eye contact as he starts to speak again.

"I told you before that my dad is disabled and can only work part-time, but that's not exactly true. He, uh, he's an alcoholic, so he has a hard time hanging on to a job for any length of time. Started after my mom died when I was four, and Sam wasn’t even a year old." 

“That’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Dean pulls out a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers as he talks. "It's why we really used to travel so much; every time he exhausted his resources in one place we'd pack up and move on to another. It seemed exciting when we were kids, but the older we got the more difficult it was, never able to stay in one place long enough to make any friends or plant any roots. So, after Sam finished eighth grade I worked hard to get my dad to settle into one place so he could focus on school, do all the things I didn't get to do."

"That must have been difficult, Dean. I know how much you love your brother, so I'm not surprised."

"Yeah, well. A lot of the time I feel more like a parent than a sibling."

"That doesn't seem fair to you." Dean shrugs, as if he's never taken it into consideration, which doesn't surprise Cas at all. He's only known Dean for a month, but putting himself first doesn't seem to be in his repertoire -- after all, he's given up his lunchtime privacy to share it with a total stranger.

"It is what it is. I promised dad I'd help with bills if we could stay put until Sam finished high school, so that's what I do, and whatever doesn't go towards living expenses I hang on to for Sam."

"But Sam's finished school now, surely you can take some time for yourself?" Dean laughs lowly, glancing at Cas before looking away again.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Cas, but for most other people college is _really_ expensive. Even if you get a full scholarship, which Sam actually has, it doesn't cover everything. And, well...our dad doesn't actually know that Sam's leaving in August. Sam's got two jobs himself this summer, and when he leaves I want to be able to give him whatever I can. So I work here every weekend and whenever they need an extra hand, on weekdays I work as a mechanic downtown, and in the evenings I do custodial work at the community college. Our dad thinks that's where Sam is going in the fall." 

"That's a lot, Dean, I'm sorry you have to do that. Christ. You must _hate_ everyone in this club. Me included." 

"No, Cas, don't be stupid. Our situation isn't anyone's fault except our own."

"Dean, I don't know your dad at all but...it sounds like a lot of the blame is his." Dean sighs and wipes a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, none of this is really my business, but I felt I needed to say it."

"Sam has always blamed him completely for everything, but I've always been conflicted. I just don't think he ever knew how to cope after...well, that's a story for another time."

"Dean, are you...are you and Sam safe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're safe. There can be pretty intense screaming matches sometimes, but Sam and I learned how to navigate that situation long ago. Now we're rarely ever home, so it hardly matters. He's just keeping his head down until it's time for him to go."

"Why all the subterfuge?" 

"Dad's always drilled into us how important it is that we remain together, keep the family unit intact. We knew he'd freak out if Sam told him he was heading to California, so we thought it was best to keep it quiet."

"Dean, I had no idea. How can you even sit here and not resent everything about me? Complaining about how my wealthy parents stifle me while they pay for me to go to a prestigious university and cover all my expenses. Shit." He buries his head in his arms again, loathing himself with his high-end racket in his pristine tennis whites and his two-hundred dollar shoes that barely showed any wear. "What will happen? When your dad realizes that Sam is gone?"

"Best not to think about that, Cas. Anyway," Dean says, slapping his thighs before standing up and gathering up his stuff, "I'm sorry that I killed the mood there, but I just wanted you to know why I don't have a lot of free time. But, uh, if I did, I wouldn't mind spending some of it with you."

Cas looks up, and though the sun is behind Dean, keeping him in shadow, he thinks there's a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

"Well, then. I'll be around if you ever get any." He can feel his own cheeks turning slightly pink as Dean smiles before heading back across the grass.

Dean worries that Cas won't come back anymore after all the information he dumped onto him. He’d worried about it all through the rest of his shift and through dinner with Sam, the only sign of John once again the empty chair. He let the reality of everything he'd said aloud keep him tossing and turning all through the night. He’d spent most of the week just going through the motions, which wasn't a problem when you were mopping a hallway in a school building but could be downright dangerous when you were underneath a Ford Taurus.

Much like the day after their first meeting, Dean approaches the trees with a sense of trepidation, still worrying that he's shown too much of himself and scared off his new friend -- really his only friend, since co-workers and little brothers didn't really count. His heart sinks as the spot comes into his line of sight, as empty as it was for years until just a few weeks ago.

 _It's probably for the best,_ he thinks to himself as he trudges up to the tree line and makes himself comfortable. _Nothing was ever going to come of that anyway._ He just stares at the bag holding his lunch, keenly feeling the loss of his appetite. He'd only know Cas for what, four weeks? Spending half an hour at a time with someone twice a week shouldn't be enough to make you feel their absence so strongly, yet here he is: Dean Winchester, noted consumer of all things food related, staring at a perfectly good sandwich with no desire to eat it. 

"Dean!" he hears somewhere behind him, and he turns to peer through the gap between the trees. Cas is jogging towards the tree line, waving as he sees Dean, who turns away to hide the smile that is threatening to break his face in half before Cas finally flops down next to him, slightly out of breath and looking apologetic. "I'm so sorry! I know you don't get that much time for your break, but we got here later than usual and then lunch went on forever because my parents are having one of their famous silent fights..."

"Hey, hey, slow down, big guy. It's okay. I'm just glad you're here." Cas groaned and flopped onto his back, tossing his racket aside as he caught his breath. "How do you have a _silent_ fight?"

"It's when you never speak directly to the person you're fighting with, but you speak loudly about them as coldly as possible in their very presence," Cas says after moving an arm over his eyes, and Dean takes advantage of the opportunity to study Cas's lips and the cleft of his chin before quickly averting his gaze once Cas moves to sit back against the tree like usual. "For example, these are things my parents said during lunch just now: 'Castiel, it's important that you learn a regular exercise regimen now, so that when you reach your father's age you'll be used to physical activity' and then 'Castiel, it pleases me that you're working so hard to obtain your degree, so that you'll be able to make a real contribution to the world instead of whiling away your time with idle pursuits like sunbathing and shopping'. There's also no direct eye contact, but a lot of sidelong glaring that is distinctly uncomfortable to sit between. Even our waiter gets uneasy." The harried look on his face is replaced by one of amusement as Dean breaks into laughter, an entire week's worth of tension leaving his body with it. 

"It's really good to see you, Cas," he finally manages when he catches his breath, finally unwrapping his lunch. "Is that your full name? Castiel? I’ve never heard it before." Cas rolls his eyes as Dean starts in on his sandwich.

"A bunch of people in my family are named after angels, and I have no idea why, since no one is particularly religious anymore in our family. Which might be how I ended up with my name, because I think my mother meant to name me after the angel Cassiel, who is kind of a badass, but she clearly half-assed the research."

"Well, yours sounds pretty badass, too."

"Castiel is the angel of _Thursday_ ," he replies, and Dean practically spits turkey and cheese sub all over himself at the deadpan delivery of that remark. He manages to finish chewing and swallow, and by then Cas is looking at him with glee.

"Oh man, that's rough. No wonder you just go by Cas."

"Exactly. I just let everyone assume I'm named after the _other_ guy."

"I'm so glad you came back, it would have sucked going back to eating alone," Dean says as he continues to devour his lunch, only realizing what came out of his mouth when Cas's tone goes somber.

"Were you worried that I wouldn't show up?" Cas asks in a small voice. "Did you think I wouldn't want to talk to you anymore after you confided in me?" He sounds so sincerely hurt that Dean crumbles a little bit inside and decides to be honest.

"It's not because I think less of you or anything, Cas. It's just..."

"You think too little of yourself." It hurts to hear it out loud, but Dean knows it's true. He's always looked at his life and found it wanting, and imagines everyone else thinks worse. "You know, I think everybody feels that way inside -- if not all the time, then at one point or another. That's why it's important to have other people in your life, to help you drown that opinion out. Otherwise it's all you hear." 

It's true that Dean doesn't really talk to a lot of people about himself, or his life. Sam is the only one, really, that he's ever confided in, and he wonders what it means that he's twenty-two years old and his best friend is his little brother. It's not that he doesn't have other friends, just no one else he feels really at ease with -- except he realizes, as he looks at Cas, that that's no longer true.

"You know," he says hesitantly, "if I gave you my number, you could text me next time you were held up, and then I wouldn't jump to the worst conclusion." He shouldn't feel so nervous, asking this. Friends exchange numbers all the time. 

"Well," Cas says, pulling out his phone with an air of studied casualness, "I should give you mine as well, so you know _exactly_ which of your numerous contacts is running late like an ass because he's afraid to tell his parents to grow up."

"That seems fair," Dean replies, pulling out his own battered phone. "I wouldn't be averse to receiving random texts to help drown out those terrible opinions sometimes." He's aiming for subtlety, but still feels like he's screaming _I like you!_ across the playground at his crush as he rattles off his phone number. Cas is smiling to himself as he punches it into his phone, and soon after Dean's text alert goes off.

_Unknown number: Hello, Dean_

"You're a dork, Cas," he says cheerily, saving the contact information into his phone. "But you can text me whenever."

At first, Cas tries to resist the temptation to text Dean constantly, but what starts out as a single text on Sunday night turns into a flurry of exchanges that go on all day Monday and take them through the entire week. He finds it much easier to walk a flirtatious line with Dean in messages, to ask or suggest things that he can't seem to do in person. Each time he hits _send_ on one of those, he half expects to get a reprimand in return, a course correction that tells him they are not interested in each other, but it never happens. Or at least, not clearly enough for him to be sure.

_Dean: Please tell me you've at least seen Star Wars._

_Cas: Only IV-VI, as is required by law._

_Dean: LOL whose law?_

_Cas: The universe. And also Charlie Bradbury, my roommate and resident Star Wars expert in my life. Be warned. She will_ kill _you if you so much as suggest watching Phantom Menace._

_Dean: This sounds like my kind of girl._

_Cas: Oh, so you have a type of girl?_

He feels like he's desperately fishing but can't stop himself. 

_Dean: Yeah, the cool kind, Cas._

_Cas: I see._

_Dean: I like the same kind of guys, for the record._

And now he feels like he's sweating slightly, because is Dean clarifying that they're just friends? Is he indicating that he likes both girls and guys? Or he likes neither sexually?

_Dean: You're a cool guy, Cas._

Has he figured out that Cas is interested and is trying to signal that he just wants to be buddies? Or is he trying to say that he reciprocates?

_Cas: It's true, I'm very cool._

"I am also a coward," he mutters to himself, feeling like he's navigating a conversational minefield and wishing he could go back to the days of drawing two boxes marked "Yes" and "No" on a piece of paper and handing it to your crush with "Do you like me?" written at the top if it.

Instead he takes screenshots of their conversation and texts them to someone else.

_Cas: Help me, Obi-Wan Bradbury, you are my only hope._

_Charlie: OMG is this the guy? You finally got his digits?_

_Cas: I can't tell if he's friendzoning me or if he's interested._

_Charlie: And you're asking me? I don't speak dude._

_Cas: You're a better interpreter than I am and I was born to it._

_Charlie: This is too vague. Keep talking to him. Need more input!_

_Cas: Whatever, Johnny-5._

He never gets anything clearer as the week goes on, and he decides that he just needs to be happy with the status quo. After all, he's already tried to suggest they hang out and Dean had made it clear he rarely had free time, so it's probably pointless to hope. Even when Dean's brother leaves for school, he'll still be working all the time to support himself and his father, and Cas will go back to school for his final year. Whatever Cas might hope for, this is clearly all he can actually have from Dean and he needs to accept it. 

_Dean: So, are you still coming tomorrow?_

"Of course I'm still coming tomorrow, how else will I stare woefully at you and never make a move?" he mutters to himself, but he doesn't actually text that.

_Cas: I'll text if I'm running late, otherwise I'll see you at the same time as always._

_Dean: Awesome._

"Yep. Awesome. I'm a moron with a crush on a guy I barely know who has no time for me whatsoever and probably doesn't even think of me like that. And why would he? Since I seem to articulate my feelings better to this empty room than I do to the object of my affection."

He sighs, leaning back in his desk chair to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom. Tomorrow is the first day of July, and this week while he's been texting Dean is the first time he hasn't felt as though the summer is moving at a glacial pace. He huffs to himself, thinking that _glacial_ is an apt term for a few things this summer, given how his parents have been treating each other since he got home. He'd tried to broach the subject with his dad on Sunday evening, but his father had fixed him with a cold stare and dismissed him in clipped tones. He hasn't even approached his mother. She's never had an ounce of warmth, anyway, and clearly this situation has done nothing to improve upon her nature.

He's startled by a knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in!" he calls out as he sits up straight. The door opens slowly, and his dad comes into the room. 

"Castiel," he says somberly. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"It's fine," Cas responds, but he senses it's not fine. Chuck looks even more drawn than he did two hours ago at dinner, and he seems to have aged more over the last month than since Cas went off to college. "Here, sit here, dad," he says, getting up from the desk and sitting on the bed instead. 

Chuck shuts the door before moving to take the proffered seat, dropping into it more heavily than a man of his stature should. Cas looks him over carefully, taking in the defeated slump in his shoulders and the gray that's invaded his beard. He doesn't think he's seen his father smile once since he's been home, and he wishes he knew how to bring it back. Instead he reaches out to place his hand on Chuck's knee, grateful when he doesn't pull away and instead covers the hand with his own.

"Dad, why won't you talk to me? Can't I help you at all?" Chuck doesn't answer right away, like he's trying to force words from between his lips.

"Castiel, I...I know it's been a difficult time since you came home." He doesn't make eye contact, but his thumb rubs the skin of Cas's hand as if to reassure himself that it's there. "I'm afraid that I have to tell you that your mother and I are talking about a separation." 

Well, he'd guessed as much. Honestly, he's not entirely sure how they've been married as long as they have. 

"Are you going to get a divorce?"

"I'm not sure yet. It's complicated."

"Dad, whatever happens, I want you to know that I'm on your side, okay?"

Chuck leans forward, putting his head in his hands, and Cas pulls back to give him some space. He's not ashamed to have made this declaration, because he not only loves his dad, but he likes him as a person, whereas the love he has for his mother has always been obligatory at best. He's not a fool -- he knows Rebecca Shurley is not a nice person, blood be damned.

"I really appreciate that, son," Chuck finally says, sitting up and rubbing his hands on his knees. "I'm sorry if I've been distracted and distant. There are just a lot of things going on and I can't discuss them with you, not yet. If I needed you to do some things for me later, would you?" 

"Like testify? Of course, dad, anything you need I'll do, you should already know that."

Chuck looks relieved as he stands up, patting Cas on the shoulder as he leaves the room. 

"Thank you, s...Castiel."

"I'm here if you need to talk, dad."

Chuck nods somberly before letting himself out of the room. Cas watches as the door closes behind him, feeling as though there's still a lot his dad isn't telling him. His first impulse is to text Dean, but he stops himself.

_Cas: My parents are separating. Dad just came in to tell me._

_Charlie: Not divorcing?_

_Cas: I asked but he responded in FB status update._

_Charlie: How is it complicated? They hate each other._

_Cas: Money makes everything complicated._

_Charlie: True. I'll be free in twenty minutes, I'll call._

_Cas: OK._

He lies on his bed as he waits, wondering about his instinct to reach out to Dean first, though he's known him all of five weeks. He should probably worry about how quickly he's gotten attached, but there are so few people he feels connected to, and none that got there so quickly. He thinks of Charlie and his other friends back at school, how easily he thinks Dean would fit in with them, and smiles to himself. It's a silly fantasy, he knows, but he likes to indulge in it, just a little, until his phone erupts with the Cantina Song. 


	3. Chapter 3

_July 2011_

Dean spots the flash of white as he starts up the little hill, and Cas waves as he comes into view. He always feels a rush of relief when he sees Cas already waiting for him, and he should probably worry a little about what that means, but he chooses to bask in it instead. He doesn't often get to feel like this, like he's come in from a cold day to a warm house and a hot drink, and seeing Cas waiting there by the trees gives him just a little of that feeling each time.

He flops down in the shade and grins.

"Do you ever actually _play_ tennis in this outfit? It's always so clean, I can spy you from the maintenance shed, like a shining beacon of purity." 

"Yep, that's me, you've got my number."

"That you never play tennis or you're totally pure?" Dean says playfully even as he mentally smacks himself.

"Is that what you think of me?" Cas says curiously, tilting his head.

"What, that you're a poser that's too lazy to play tennis?" 

"That you think I'm a virgin." Cas deadpans, squinting like he can see through Dean's bullshit.

"Are you?" he counters, holding his breath.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean."

"Are you telling me you're actually a stud who carries that racket around to deter the girls?" Dean's internal sense of self-preservation faints dead away as he tries not to blush at how obvious he seems.

"Well, I don't actually _like_ the girls, so it's best not to get their hopes up," Cas finally responds, and Dean's inner bisexual cheers wildly.

"So you're beating off the boys?" he says, realizing just a little too late what he's said, and freezing with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. Cas stares back, eyes wide, and everything goes still for a second before Cas finally breaks, giggling at first like he's trying to control it before giving up and throwing his head back, full-throated laughter erupting from his lungs as he throws himself back onto the grass.

"Fuck, man, I did _not_ mean it like that," Dean tries to correct, weakly, before he finally gives in and breaks into hearty guffaws of his own.

It takes several minutes for them to recover, and Cas is wiping his eyes in obvious glee, gasping for breath.

"Does that bother you?" he asks Dean, finally, turning to look up at him.

"Nah, man, that would make me a hypocrite," and he's sure he doesn't imagine the look of relief (and maybe hope?) on Cas's face when he says that.

"You...you're gay?" Cas says in a whisper, like saying it louder will scare Dean out of telling the truth.

"Only half."

"What?"

"I'm bi, Cas. You can say it out loud."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry, it's just...I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well. I'm sure my dad would be, too, if he ever found out." 

"Does anybody know?" 

"Well, I don't really have anybody to tell except Sammy. And yeah, he knows." Dean clears his throat, glancing at Cas quickly before going on. "Never had an opportunity to act on it much, but I figured it out when I was fourteen or so. Didn't tell him for a few years, though, until he was old enough to understand."

"Oh, so... _you're_ the virgin, is what you're saying?" Cas teases with a grin as Dean turns to him in wide-eyed shock.

"Hey! I'm not, well, not _exactly_ ," he sputters and Cas just pokes him in the shoulder.

"You remember this moment next time you make an assumption, Winchester."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dean sighs, batting his hand away as he finishes his sandwich, relief and hope twisting together inside him spurring him to ask what's been on his mind all week. "Hey, Cas, are you doing anything for the holiday? Because, uh, I actually have a really rare day off, which practically never happens. I thought if you wanted to hang out, maybe we could meet up?" He takes a sip of his soda, mostly to relieve his suddenly dry mouth.

"What did you have in mind?" 

"Well, I hadn't actually gotten that far. I never get time off so I'm torn between wanting to spend the day doing everything or waste it doing nothing at all." Cas looks thoughtful for a moment, as if he's considering how to refuse without hurting Dean's feelings. "If you're busy, it's cool," he says with forced nonchalance. "I'll probably use up the whole day at the movies, because I never get to see _anything._ "

"Does that mean you _don't_ want to hang out, or can I come to the movies, too?" 

"You'd do that? You don't have some fancy afternoon tea to attend or something?" 

"Nobody _goes_ to afternoon tea, Dean," Cas says dismissively. "You have tea at _home,_ unless you're raising money for charity and you throw a garden party. Luckily for you," he says with a raised eyebrow, "I'll be finished with all my charity obligations the day before, so I'll have the entire holiday free. Could you pick me up? I don't have a car." 

"Yeah, sure."

"Great," Cas says, laying back in the grass with his hands behind his head. "We have to go check out fireworks somewhere, though. I love fireworks."

"I know the perfect place," Dean says, laying back to mimic Cas's position, their elbows brushing together a little, but neither one moves. Dean tries not to give himself away by smiling so hard, completely unaware that Cas is doing the same thing beside him as they both stare up through the leaves into the summer sky.

"Dean, are you feeling okay?" Sam asks the next morning as Dean makes breakfast for them both. "Your hands are shaking."

Dean clenches the spatula tighter where he stands at the stove, trying to will himself to be still. 

"I'm fine, Sam," he says dismissively as he turns off the burner, bringing the frying pan over to the table and portioning scrambled eggs onto his brother's plate. He puts a lesser portion onto his own and then opens the oven to remove a tray of perfectly cooked bacon, splitting it evenly between them with a pair of tongs before sitting down to eat. He eyes his plate suspiciously, because it looks like Sam transferred some of his eggs to Dean's plate, but the glare he gives him brooks no argument. Damn kid.

They eat quietly for a few minutes, and though Dean keeps his focus on his own plate he can feel Sam's stare. 

"Dean, you know that whatever it is, you can tell me, right?" Dean makes the mistake of looking up in surprise, and before he knows it he's pulled in by Sam's puppy dog eyes tractor beam. He sighs, defeated, and pushes what's left of his eggs around with his fork as he tries to think of what to say. Sam waits patiently, munching on his last piece of bacon, until Dean finally puts down his utensil with a sigh and rubs his temples.

"So, there's this...person that I met over a month ago."

"Girl person or guy person? Not that it matters, but you don't have to play the pronoun game with me. I'm not Dad."

"Right, I know, Sam, it's just hard to break the habit. Um, guy person. His name is Cas."

"Odd name." 

"Yeah, well, he's, uh...he's one of those fancy country club types, they all have weird ass names."

"Funny, I didn't think any of them would be your type."

"They're not. I mean, he's not, well. He's one of them but he's not, exactly. He's different. Anyway, it doesn't matter. We're just friends."

"But you want to be more?"

Dean gathers their plates and takes them over to the sink, emptying the crumbs into the garbage disposal and flicking it on while he runs the water. He can feel Sam's gaze on his back, and eventually turns back to him with a sigh.

"I think so, but I don't know what to do with that. He's been keeping me company on my lunch breaks every weekend, and I want see him more than that but I don’t know how to ask. I barely have any free time anyway, and he's got nothing _but_ free time. What could someone like me have to offer, you know?"

"Dean, if he doesn't know how much you have to offer..."

"Relax, Sam, he's never made me feel like that. Not once. It's just me, you know? I finally asked him to hang out tomorrow, since I actually have a free day. He jumped at the chance, but I can't stop the train of thought in my head that tells me he's too good for me."

"That's Dad talking," Sam says, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I hate that you think about yourself that way. Nobody who's actually _worth_ anything thinks about you like that."

"Sam."

"I don't care, Dean. I wish you'd come with me when the summer's over. Dad’s going to freak when he finds out I'm leaving and I don't want him to take that out on you. Besides, it's time he started taking care of his own damn self anyway."

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans against the sink. He knows Sam's right, but he can't shake the sense of obligation he feels to stay. Dean will be the only thing his dad has left, and it would be wrong to abandon him.

"Can we talk about it later?" he finally asks, weakly, and even though Sam gives him a look that says he knows they won't talk about it later, he nods.

"Tell me more about Cas."

"He's...he's great, Sammy," and Dean can't keep himself from smiling. "He's got this dry wit, and he's quick with it, really makes me laugh. He's smart, but lonely, I think? He's an only child and there's no one in his family that he's really close to, not like us. He's either a good listener or a great actor, but I like to think it's the first one." He rubs the back of his neck, thinking of all the _other_ things he likes about Cas that he'd rather not share with his brother: the shape of his lips, how sexy his mouth is when he does a little half-grin, the piercing way he looks at Dean sometimes that makes his tongue go dry.

"So, are you going to make a move on him?" 

"Sam!"

"Dean. We're grown. We can talk about these things like adults."

"I hate you." 

Sam grins as he leans his elbows on the table and puts his chin in his hands. "Doubtful. You still haven't answered my question."

Dean turns his back to Sam and starts washing their breakfast dishes. He _wants_ to make a move on Cas, but he's not entirely sure how that would be received. He thinks Cas finds him attractive, is almost certain of it, but...

"The thing is, I want more than to just make a move, you know?"

"You want to date?"

"I...I think I do? I just don't even know what that is, Sam." He shuts off the faucet, grabbing a dish towel and drying the plates before placing them back in the cabinet and turning back to his brother. "Before we moved here I never had any sense of permanence, so I never let myself get close to anyone." 

"And since we moved here you do nothing but work, so you _can't_ meet anyone. I'm sorry, Dean." 

"Hey, don't be like that. You're going to get out of here, and that makes it worth it." 

"You should start doing things for yourself more. If you won't come with me, you should make a life for yourself however you can. Maybe this guy is a good place to start." Sam gets up from the table and claps Dean on the shoulder. "Just think about it, okay? Maybe just take a day to have fun, stop focusing all your energy on me and Dad or anything else. We've never deserved everything you've given us."

Dean opens his mouth to protest but Sam quells his counterargument with a single look before heading back to their room to get dressed. Instead Dean makes himself another cup of coffee and sits back down at their tiny kitchen table, its yellowed surface beginning to curl at the corners where the laminate is peeling away from the wood. His eyes drift to his mug and the way it's chipped on one side, already like that when he'd picked it up a the Goodwill for a quarter, just like most of the dishes in their cabinets. Everything in this room, in this apartment, was either obtained second-hand or repurposed from someone else's trash. How can someone that lives like this ever hope to have a shot at someone like Cas?

And yet, he can picture Cas sitting here so easily, munching on bacon and joking with Sam as they eat breakfast together, perfectly at home with Dean's cracked plates and scuffed plastic tumblers. He thinks Cas would have no problem fitting himself into Dean's world. The difficulty is that Dean that can't place himself in _Cas's_ world, and that's the thing that constantly gives him pause, makes him look away when he wants to lean in. 

He sighs. Cas doesn't fit into his own world, either. It's something Dean likes about him, that uneasiness he shows towards the people he's expected to be one of, and while it's endearing it's also isolating. Neither of them really belong anywhere, but maybe, just maybe if he's brave enough, they can build something together that fits them both.

Just driving through Cas's neighborhood is enough to make Dean consider turning around and calling the whole thing off, although he has a feeling his black '67 Chevy Impala is making a better impression than he would on his own, given the pristine condition she's in. Being a lowly mechanic has its perks. 

The houses are all set well back from the road, immaculately manicured lawns separating them from the taint of the common street. As he comes up to the address Cas gave him he realizes that there's an honest-to-god gate at the end of the driveway, flanked with two large pillars that look like chess pieces, red brick rooks guarding the sanctity of the driveway. He swallows before he turns in, following the smooth paving as it curves around into a circular drive that takes him right up to the front door. He gets out of the car and leans against the frame as he takes in the massive house before him, suddenly feeling very small in his faded _Houses of the Holy_ tee and jeans worn almost bare in places. 

"Christ, it looks like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air lives here," he mutters to himself as he heads to the front door. "If Geoffrey opens this door I'm out of here." 

"Who's Geoffrey?" 

He looks up, startled, not having heard the door open, and his breath catches. He's never seen Cas in anything but tennis whites before, and though he looks great in those, it's nothing compared to the way he looks now in crisp khakis and a light blue polo shirt that somehow deepens the color of his eyes. He's leaning against the doorframe with a bemused look on his face, hands in his pockets as he waits for Dean to come up the steps, surprised he doesn't trip over his own feet.

"Hey, Cas. He's, uh, it's nothing. Old TV show reference."

"I've watched TV, Dean, I'm not a Mennonite."

"Some Mennonites watch TV, Cas, you're thinking of the Amish."

Cas pushes himself off the doorframe as he grins.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Your house reminds me of one on this TV show that Will Smith used to be on, that's all." 

"Well," Cas says as he steps out, pulling the door shut behind him. "I wasn't born and raised in West Philadelphia, sorry." 

Dean thinks that in a different universe he could live happily ever after with this dork and never want for anything else in life; but in this universe Cas lives in a giant house and Dean is a grown man with a drunk father who shares a bedroom with his brother, so he's determined to just focus on the here and now and enjoy what he can get.

"We lived in Philadelphia for a while when I was a teenager. I still miss cheesesteaks."

"You can get cheesesteaks in a lot of places, Dean, I've had them before."

"Uh, no, Cas. No you haven't. Whatever you had was merely a meat and cheese sandwich, trust me."

"Whatever you say, oh wise one," Cas says as he opens the passenger door of Dean's car and slides smoothly into the front seat. Dean pauses a moment, holding the door handle on the driver's side as he takes a deep breath, and then opens it to slide in behind the wheel. Cas is running his hands over the dash, looking around the interior with a soft smile on his face. "I don't know much about cars, but I can tell you take really good care of this old girl."

"Yeah, she's most of the reason I was able to get a job as a mechanic. My dad's had her since before my folks were even married, and when you're always on the road you need to learn how to fix everything. I always helped my dad, and by the time I was twelve I could do most of the repairs by myself." He starts the car, the throaty grumble of her engine startling Cas and making Dean laugh a little. "I rebuilt her completely when I was eighteen, and Dad had already bought himself a truck by the time I was done so he let me keep her." 

"Why the rebuild?"

"Well, it's how we ended up here." He starts down the driveway, back to the street. "Dad finally agreed that we could settle somewhere while Sam went to high school, but hadn't actually stopped moving. That changed when we got hit by a tractor trailer after we'd been here for a week. Dad was laid up for a while, Sam and I were pretty banged up, and the car was totalled. I started looking for work, and managed to get the mechanic's job. Guy even agreed to let me work on Baby here after closing, let me use all the tools in the shop and just pay for parts." He pats her dash affectionately. "Took a long time. Sam started school, we moved into an apartment I could afford, and here we are."

"What a strange twist of fate that was."

"It was just an accident turned into an opportunity." 

"Bonaparte said accidents are just fate, misnamed." 

"That guy was like, a foot shorter than me, so I can't hear him from way down there."

"I didn't know you were such a height elitist."

"Yep, everyone under six feet is just noise, like the teachers in a Peanuts cartoon"

They banter back and forth like this all the way to the theater, and it serves to temper all the nervous excitement Dean has from being out with Cas, not only in public but for a length of time greater than his lunch break. He feels free, unfettered by the responsibility that weighs on him daily, and he lets himself forget about differences and impossible futures and instead revels in arguing over who pays for what. 

In the end Dean wins the war to buy the tickets only by agreeing that Cas can pay at the concession stand, and even so they're still early enough that the previews haven't yet started, so they get choice seats in the back row and settle in with their sodas and giant tub of buttered popcorn.

"So what are your brother and father doing today?" Cas asks, throwing a handful of salted goodness in his mouth, leaning back in his seat as he watches local advertisements cycle on the movie screen.

"Dad's been away for a couple of days on a job, no idea where. He doesn't keep in touch very well. Sammy's at a pool party with a bunch of his friends. Was invited to go, but I didn't want to be the creepy older brother hanging out with a bunch of college-bound teenagers, you know?" 

"Hanging out in the pool all day sounds relaxing though."

"I don't swim very well."

"Nobody swims at those things. They just lay around on floats and dunk each other while they drink beer."

"Well, you make it sound way more appealing than this, so..." but Cas grabs his arm as he gets up to leave, laughing and pulling him back into his seat.

"My parents have a pool, but I can't remember a time all of us used it together. My mother never actually gets in it; instead she goes to the club every weekend and spends her time at the pool there, socializing. Sometimes my dad swims laps when he's frustrated."

"And you?"

"It's what I would have been doing today instead of this. I honestly don't even know where my parents are today. They'd already left the house when I got up this morning."

"Are you sorry you gave up your day in the sun?" Dean asks after a beat, holding his breath.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Cas responds, throwing popcorn at his head for good measure, and just then the previews start and Cas turns back to the screen with a huge smile on his face. Dean continues to stare at his profile, watching the light from the screen leave multicolored patterns on his face, aching to reach out and trace them before he swallows and turns his attention to the front as well.

"Let's go get something to eat more substantial than popcorn," Cas says. "We can discuss this travesty you just subjected me to."

"What are you talking about? Transformers are awesome, Cas."

"No, the only awesome Transformers film was and always will be the original animated movie where Orson Welles voices Optimus Prime. This one was a crime against humanity."

"Fine. I get to pick where we go, since you're planning to verbally attack me."

"Then I get to pay. Those are the rules," Cas says as he gets back in the passenger seat. Dean gives him an exasperated look as he starts the car, but Cas just grins back at him as they head out of the parking lot. They ride along in companionable silence as Dean navigates to their destination in a part of town he's unfamiliar with. 

"Come on," Dean says eagerly after he's parked the car in the tiny lot of a dingy looking diner. "I know it doesn't look like much, but they do burgers and fries like nothing else."

"Good thing I trust you," Cas says, pleased at the enthusiasm Dean exudes as he pushes open the door, a tiny little bell announcing their arrival. 

"You boys just have a seat wherever," says the matronly waitress pouring coffee for a man at the counter. "I'll be with you in a tick."

Dean leads them to a corner booth, sliding in the far side to face the door, and Cas takes the seat opposite, surprised and pleased to find a tiny little jukebox mounted to the wall. Dean laughs as he starts turning the little wheel at the top, scanning the selections.

"One thing I've learned from visiting most of the diners across the country: every single one of those has Happy Birthday, and it's misspelled on every single one as 'Birtrday'. I bet you a dollar this one is, too." 

"Oh, you're on," Cas says, slowing down as he flips each card, looking for the song in question. The waitress comes by with water and menus for both of them, and Dean thanks her just as Cas finds what he's looking for. "Got it! It says...oh shit."

"I told you." 

"That's crazy! You've been here before."

"Well, yeah, I have, but that's not the point. I've seen that typo in diners all over the country. Only time I didn't was when the card was written by hand. I guess whenever these were manufactured there was a spelling error that got mass printed."

"That bothers me _so_ much," Cas says, leaning to pull out his wallet, drawing out a single dollar bill and sliding it across the table. "You won't get the next dollar out of me so easily."

"Oh, I have a feeling I could fleece you easily if I wanted to."

"Well, then I guess I should be glad you're on my side," Cas says dryly, picking up his menu and flipping it open. "Burgers and fries, huh? What's your take on their milkshakes?"

"They're not the best I've ever had, but they're still pretty good. I highly recommend one as an accompaniment to your meal."

They order fairly similar burgers, though Cas opts for seasoned fries instead of regular, and laughs at the way Dean curls his lip in disdain.

"What's wrong with my selection?" he asks as they hand their menus back. 

"There's nothing wrong with the potato in its perfectly pristine form, and you're mucking it all up with seasoning, obscuring the taste."

"Uh-huh. I'll bet a dollar you usually smother yours with ketchup, don't you?"

Dean stares at him, and Cas just grins in return until he sighs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the dollar he won earlier, sliding it back across the table. Cas reaches out to snatch it away, but as he does their fingers brush together and his breath catches. Dean's fingers grab onto his lightly as their eyes lock, and Cas can't bring himself to look away. He caresses his fingers across Dean's, watching as he visibly swallows, the air between them electric.

"Okay, so which one of you had the seasoned fries?" their waitress asks as she appears next to them, back far too soon with a plate in each hand. Cas pulls away reluctantly, raising his hand and then tucking the dollar back into his pocket as she puts a plate down in front of him, and then another in front of Dean. "Milkshakes will be right out, boys!" she says cheerily as she walks away, but the moment is lost and Cas reluctantly picks up his burger instead.

"We should go back to my house after this," he says. "We can hang out in the pool until it's time to check out fireworks. We’ll stay in the shallow end since I’m not a certified lifeguard."

"I didn't bring swim trunks." 

"You can borrow some of mine." 

Dean chews thoughtfully, thinking it over, and Cas hopes he hasn't been completely obvious in his desire to get Dean shirtless and wet for part of the day. 

"Okay. You talked me into it." Dean shrugs, going back to his burger, and Cas mentally fist-pumps the air in triumph as their waitress places their drinks on the table.

"Thanks!" Cas says happily, and he hopes Dean thinks it's because of the milkshakes.

An hour later they're back at Cas's house, and he directs Dean to park in the garage past the house. 

"Are you sure your folks won't mind?" he says nervously, glancing at the two empty spots in the spacious garage, oil stains in the concrete showing they're regularly in use. "Won't they be curious as to why there's a strange car in the garage when they come home?"

"I'm sure they'll be curious, but it won't kill them. I'm allowed to interact with the human race, Dean, it's not like I'm out on a day pass." He hits a switch that closes the overhead door as he enters a combination into a nearby keypad, opening an interior door beside it after a series of beeps. "Follow me," he says, projecting a confidence he doesn't feel as he turns to the right, taking the back staircase up to the second floor landing. He sends up a silent prayer of thanks that he cleaned his room yesterday, and hopes he hasn't left out anything embarrassing that he's forgotten about as he opens the door and heads into the room.

"Wow," Dean says, turning around to take in the space. "I think our entire apartment fits in your bedroom. And you have a balcony? Damn." He heads over to the french doors on the far side of the room, peering out to where the pool shimmers below in the afternoon sunlight.

Cas admires the way that Dean looks in his room before he shakes himself, turning away to open the drawer where he keeps his swim trunks. He pulls out his favorite pair, dark blue with a cream pattern on them like a Hawaiian shirt, and another that are blue and green plaid which he throws to Dean just as he looks back towards Cas. 

"You can change in the bathroom, it's right through that door. Just leave all your stuff on the bed when you come out." He opens the door to his walk in closet, pulling it shut behind him, trying to catch his breath. He's glad Dean's here but is also a little terrified, that moment in the diner when their hands touched barreling to the forefront of his mind and making him weak in the knees. He disrobes quickly, changing into his trunks and bracing himself before walking back into the room with forced calm. 

Dean is placing his neatly folded clothes on Cas's bed as he comes out, and they make eye contact for a split second before Cas looks away, feeling the flush of heat darkening his cheeks as he moves towards the door to the hall. 

"There are towels down by the pool," he says to cover himself, and Dean follows him silently as they head back the way they came, only this time Cas takes him down a hall leading to the left of the stairs, and out into a sunroom that leads to the covered patio and the pool. 

"I feel like we're taking all the servant paths to navigate your house," Dean comments when they finally arrive poolside, and Cas laughs.

"I always take the most unobtrusive paths through the house when I can. Most of it actually makes me uncomfortable," he says, pulling towels out of a nearby cabinet. "I grew up in this house, but it feels cold, like a museum. I really only like this part, my room, and the kitchen. Spending time anywhere else in the house is unpleasant."

"What a fun childhood you must have had."

"Tell me about it," Cas says, throwing his towel on a deck chair and diving head first into the deep end. "There are steps down at the other end," he calls as he swims in that direction, but he's silenced by a huge splash over his head as Dean cannonballs into the pool near him. He sputters and palms water off his face as Dean surfaces, grinning. 

"I said I didn't swim well, not that I was a delicate chicken about it," he says, heading for the low end with clumsy strokes.

"I beg your pardon, good sir," Cas snarks, splashing him before he follows. "Shit, I just had an idea." He hauls himself out of the pool at the edge and grabs two floating recliners, dropping them into the pool as he passes and heads into the kitchen to grab a couple of sodas. By the time he returns, Dean has hauled himself into one of the recliners, the water droplets on his chest glistening in the sun as he turns his face up to its rays. Cas wonders briefly if he has a death wish, since clearly this much exposure to so much wet, tan skin on the object of his desire is going to kill him before dark. 

He splashes into the water, pulling himself into the other recliner and paddling closer to Dean, tossing the cold soda can onto his stomach and startling him. 

"Oh, you bastard," Dean laughs, splashing water half-heartedly in his direction before popping open the can and taking a long swig. Castiel watches the muscles dance in the column of his throat, a sight he hasn't yet tired of despite how often he's seen this exact same thing over the past several weekends. 

They float in companionable silence for a while, hands dangling in the cool water, and then he hears Dean clear his throat.

"So, what are you planning to do with yourself after college, anyway? I mean, I'm assuming you want to do something with your degree. Family business? Your dad some kind of corporate badass?" 

Cas throws his head back to laugh before he can help himself, because the very idea is hilarious to him.

"Uh, no. Dad's pretty much the opposite. He's a writer, actually. Published his first book when he was still in college, and it hit big."

"So he's like a rags to riches story?"

"No, no. His parents were very wealthy, and my grandfather was so angry he became a good-for-nothing writer instead of following in his footsteps. He got over it eventually, but only after he accepted that dad would never take over the company and sold it instead. Grandfather got even richer as a result and no longer had to work so hard. It made him very magnanimous."

"What about you?"

Cas dips his fingers into the pool again, moving his hand back and forth, feeling the resistance of the water against his flesh. 

"Can you keep a secret?" he asks, and Dean grins, crossing his heart with two fingers that he brings up to his lips, turning an invisible key to lock them and throwing it into the pool. "I have this idea for a startup company, a non-profit. I want to work with local charities to help them organize and publicize fundraisers, get better exposure for their cause, that sort of thing." He looks away, afraid to look at the expression on Dean's face. "Do you think that's dumb?"

"What? No way, man. I think it sounds awesome! Why is it a secret, though?" 

"Well. It's not completely a secret, I've talked to my grandmother about it. She lives back in Boston, so I spend a lot of time with her while I'm in school. We're both of the opinion that my dad wouldn't approve. He wants me to do something with more clout, something more fitting of our position. Which is hilarious, considering he bucked all his own parents' expectations."

"And your mom?"

"Oh, she would _definitely_ not approve. She only believes in the exposure that comes from giving to charity, not any of the actual work that goes into it. She just wants to be photographed writing a check or bidding on something in an auction, and only then if it's a _fashionable_ charity."

"Jesus."

"I have no illusions about my parents. I tolerate my mother, and though I love my father and feel much closer to him, I know he has different expectations for me than I have for myself. So, until I turn twenty-two, I'm keeping all my plans to myself."

"Because you'll have graduated?"

"Yes, but I'll also have access to my trust fund then, which I'll use as start up capital." He glances guiltily at Dean before looking away again. "I know how that must sound to you. Don't hate me."

"Dude, the situation you were born into has nothing to do with how I see you as a person." Cas sighs in relief, shoving Dean's raft a little with his foot, and Dean gives him a brilliant smile. "You'll do great, I just know it."

"Thank you," Cas replies, biting his lip as he reclines his head, gazing up into the blue sky as they while away the rest of the afternoon.

Dean's skin is pleasantly pruney by the time they get out of the pool, the sky just starting to purple in the glowing twilight. This day has allayed any fears he still had about Cas getting sick of his company; they'd spent the day moving easily between involved discussions and companionable silence, and he can't think of anyone besides Sam that he's been so comfortable with for such a long period of time.

There'd been that moment in the diner when their hands had touched, and Dean had clasped Cas's fingers reflexively, seeking to increase the contact, convey his desire to move things in a new direction. He's been thinking about that moment ever since setting foot in this empty house, wondering if there would be an opportunity to get that moment back, but it hasn’t happened. 

Cas leads him into the kitchen after they've dressed, throwing open the fridge as he looks for something they can eat, and Dean practically flinches at the well-stocked shelves as he thinks about his own nearly barren refrigerator. He can't seem to reconcile the person Cas is with this environment he lives in, an opulence so alien to Dean that discomfort shimmers beneath his skin, making it hard for him to completely let his guard down. 

They feast on turkey and cheese sandwiches that Cas puts together the way Dean builds an engine, carefully considering where each condiment goes and making sure everything is perfectly balanced. It's hopelessly endearing, and Dean thinks it's a good thing Cas is so absorbed in his task that he doesn’t see the dopey expression Dean must have on his face, watching him place lettuce with the focused concentration of a surgeon.

By the time they consume their sandwiches, laughing together at the enormous kitchen island as they eat, the sky is fully dark outside. 

"You ready to head out for fireworks?" he asks, and Cas nods enthusiastically as they clean up. He leads Dean back out to the still empty garage, climbing into the Impala as though it's already second nature. Cas looks really good in his car, he thinks, grinning to himself as he starts the engine and backs out through the now open door.

Dean hums along to the radio as he drives, fingers beating in rhythm against the steering wheel as Cas leans casually out the open window, watching the scenery as Dean turns onto a succession of roads, each more remote than the last, until he's moving slowly down a dirt track with brush close up against either side of the car before suddenly opening up into a huge field. Cas has lived here all of his life, but Dean will bet money he's never been to this place, given the way he stares out the windshield in awe before opening the door to get out.

Cas walks a few feet past the front bumper before he stops, and Dean moves beside him. They stand shoulder to shoulder trying to take in the vast expanse of unfettered night sky, scattered stars shimmering in the night like diamonds on a swath of dark velvet. He feels emboldened after the day they've spent together, and in this place feels like they're on more equal footing. 

"Fireworks should start right in front of us here," he says, pointing in the general direction ahead of them. 

"How did you find this place?"

"Oh, well. I like to take drives, listen to music, clear my head. Found this place a couple of years ago by accident, but I like to come here whenever I can."

"It's incredible, Dean. Thank you for sharing it with me." Cas turns to smile at him briefly before turning back to the stars, and Dean swallows hard as he does the same. He leans slightly in Cas's direction, and the back of their hands brush together like a whispered secret. Cas freezes but doesn't pull away, and Dean moves his hand slowly to tangle their fingers together. Cas responds by gripping his hand tightly for a moment, then turning into it, pulling Dean into him as his other hand reaches up to grab him by the back of the neck. 

Dean's breath catches in his throat as Cas looks into his eyes, as though he's trying to gauge Dean's willingness to take things further. Dean raises his free hand and places it firmly on Cas's hip, conveying the message he wants to send without words, leaning in to brush their lips together softly.

"Cas," he whispers, and then they're kissing as the first of the fireworks explodes in the distance to illuminate the night sky.


	4. Chapter 4

_June, 2017_

Naomi Novak-Shurley is a formidable woman to most people, more like a force of nature than an actual person, and Cas's own family members find her intimidating and keep her at arm's length. He thinks this might be why she's always favored him and Gabriel out of everyone in the family, because neither of them have ever done so. When Cas was little he would always seek her out to tell her of his latest discovery, chatter about something he learned, climbing into her lap without regard for whatever expensive thing she wore. Gabriel would dance or make silly faces at her all the time, causing her to crack up across the table during somber family dinners. Where everybody else treated Naomi with respectful reverence because of her money, Gabe and Cas just treated her like Nana (although actually calling her that was a huge no-no, even for them).

Naomi and Gabe are already waiting when they arrive at the restaurant, a high-end steakhouse filled with dark wood and leather, and she throws her arms around Cas before giving Charlie the same treatment. Gabe gives him a robust hug and a pat on the back before squeezing Charlie until she squeals, then releasing her with a laugh.

"You both look so wonderful! I'm happy to have you out here with me at last," she says, taking one of Charlie's arms as they follow the seating hostess to their table, talking to her in a conspiratorial whisper that Castiel can hear nonetheless. "There's a lovely young woman at my facility, very sweet, but kind of saucy, too." Charlie giggles, used to Naomi's matchmaking, and kisses her on the cheek before she takes a seat. 

They chatter all through dinner about inconsequential things, and Cas feels a much-needed calm settle over him after the shock he had today. It lasts about ninety minutes, until Naomi leans in to whisper to him over dessert and coffee while Charlie and Gabe discuss the latest _Guardians of the Galaxy_ movie.

"Darling," she says quietly, and he places a hand around the back of her chair as he tilts his head in her direction. "I know Charlie warned you about your father." Cas breathes out through his nose as he studies the coffee in his cup. He'd forgotten all about Chuck in the turmoil of the day's discovery, but he probably shouldn't have, given how inextricably linked the two events are. 

"Yes," is all he can think to say.

"Castiel," she says, laying a hand on his knee before she sips delicately from her own cup. "I won't force this on you, you know that. I've never condoned what he did, but I know he had motivations that you weren't privy to. Perhaps you could let him speak his mind, see if there's _any_ apology he can make that will ease your pain, and then make the decision that's best for you." She pats his knee as she puts down her cup and takes a delicate bite of tiramisu, giving a soft smile to Charlie and Gabe across the table as they chatter gleefully about Baby Groot. He studies her serene profile and sighs to himself, moving his arm from the back of her chair to her shoulders as he leans in to kiss her temple.

"Only for you, _Nana_ ," he says, and she smacks his leg under the table.

"Hey," Gabe says, taking notice. "What are you doing to our matriarch?"

"She hit _me_ , why am I the one at fault here?"

"Because Naomi strikes at no one unless they deserve it," he says merrily, winking at her across the table before he grabs her hand and kisses it with a flourish. She pulls her hand back and bats at him playfully.

"You're already in the will, Gabriel, I don't think you need to keep laying it on so thickly," Cas says with an impish grin that Gabe returns in kind. 

"Hey, I'm always trying to stay one step ahead of do-gooders like you. I need an edge wherever I can get it." Charlie elbows him playfully, and he tugs on her hair.

They finally leave, full of good food and good spirits, and Cas hugs Naomi a little closer than usual before letting Gabriel escort her to his car so he can drive her home. Charlie waits until they're halfway back to their hotel before she speaks.

"What are you going to do?" 

"About which problem, exactly?"

"Well, in this instance I was thinking about your dad. I heard what Naomi said to you." He grips the steering wheel, his lips tightening as much as his fingers. "It can't be an easy decision to make, especially after learning what you did today." 

"Let's make some decisions about what we came here to do first. Then I'll try and figure out what to do about everything else." He can feel her studying his profile, but he doesn't take his eyes from the road.

It's not until an hour later that he allows his thoughts to drift to Dean Winchester, as he lies in what passes for darkness in any hotel room. The memory of him is still vivid in Cas's mind, and the passage of time has done nothing to diminish the potency of the six months they had together. Cas had read somewhere, during that post break-up stage when every song on the radio feels like it's about you, that the mourning period for a relationship was roughly one month for every year you spent together. He'd laughed then, in that way you do that's almost like crying, because according to that math he should have been over Dean in two weeks -- but by then months had passed and he still felt raw. Now it's been nearly six years, and he knows he's still not over it, won't be even if the math works out to a year of mourning for every month they were together. He'd known then, and still knows it now: Dean Winchester is the love of his life.

He knows he should want an explanation, an apology, a vindication of some kind that will bring him the closure to move on, but in his heart he wants none of these things. What he truly wants is to have Dean in his life, looking at him the way he always did before Cas learned about the lie of it all.

They spend the next couple of weeks doing the boring things that come with relocating themselves to another place: finalizing living arrangements, leasing an office space, contracting with a local law firm to manage their affairs. Charlie convinces him to choose the firm that Sam Winchester interns for, because they were the best choice and Sam’s connection to them is temporary.

“We probably won’t ever see him again,” she reasons, and Cas nods in agreement while wondering if that’s what he really wants. “I’ve been communicating with Hannah through email, and we’ll only have to go back in to sign paperwork when it’s ready. By the time we actually need them he’ll be back in school.”

“Right, sure,” he says distractedly, and doesn’t see her shaking her head.

Charlie is flying back to Boston for a few days to finalize arrangements with the movers, and gives Castiel a list of the vendors she arranged to have their new house deep cleaned, landscaped, and decorated. 

“Give Davio’s bolognese sauce a kiss goodbye for me,” he says as he drives her to the airport.

“We’re going to investigate a bunch more possible replacements when I get back. I got a list of recommendations from Hannah.”

“You’ve been emailing her a lot,” Cas teases, and she playfully slaps him on the shoulder.

“Just to get help with finding reputable people to do the work we needed for the house. I’m waiting for Naomi to fix me up with that girl she keeps talking about.”

“Well, I’ll let you know just what I think of her recommendations about the housework when you get back. If they all suck I’m not going anywhere near her restaurant list.”

“Fair.”

He spends the rest of that Sunday lounging around in the hotel, answering his emails and watching whatever is on the television, finally giving in to the thoughts he’s kept at bay while they’ve been busy making arrangements. He’s tried not to think about the fact that Dean Winchester is somewhere in the same city, quietly living his life, with no idea that Cas is nearby. Now that he’s alone with his thoughts he lets them run loose. Does Dean even think about him anymore, or has he moved on, content with having secured his brother's future? 

He twirls the metal on his finger, and it makes him feel a little desperate at the thought that Dean has forgotten him completely, while Cas still wears his cheap bronze ring and can't seem to get over him.

He's glad when Monday arrives, because he can distract himself with tasks. The cleaning crew are coming to the house today, furniture is being delivered Tuesday, and the landscapers on Wednesday. He’s got plenty to stay busy with until Charlie gets back.

_Charlie: movers are here, and everything will deliver on Wednesday. I’m flying back the same day, but I'll take a car from the airport that morning since I don’t know when they’ll be done and you’ll be busy with the landscapers._

_Cas: that's good news_

_Charlie: and we'll be in our new digs in time for the 4th of July! We should have one of those block party things._

_Cas: Haha. Hard pass._

The cleaning service makes everything inside the house sparkle, and the decorator comes on Tuesday to supervise everything that gets delivered. He spends one last night in the hotel, not wanting to stay in the new house without Charlie, but checks out Wednesday morning and heads for their new house. 

There’s a truck already waiting when he arrives, and he takes an immediate liking to the owner of Hive Landscaping, an older man named Cain with lush long hair and an equally impressive beard. He has a gruff look about him, but his eyes are as kind as his manner. 

"My partner is coming separately," he says as he shakes Cas's hand, "but I can get started right now if you like.”

"I don't mind waiting if you're in no hurry," Cas says warmly. "I want to know about your business name, actually. I'm fascinated by bees."

"Oh, well, you've found the right man, then. I keep bees on my own property, been doing so for years now."

They fall into an easy chat, and Cain seems thrilled by Cas's unfeigned interest in what he does. Cas is almost sorry when he hears another truck pull up, and he glances over his shoulder to see it park behind Cain before he turns his attention back to him as he finishes his point.

"Sorry I'm late," Cain's partner says, and Cas feels his stomach drop to his knees for the second time since coming to California. 

"The gentleman was kind enough to wait and listen to me jabber about my bees until you arrived. Mr. Novak, this is my partner, Dean Winchester."

Cas turns and puts out his hand more from reflexive politeness than anything else, but he has to force himself to look up at the face he hasn't seen in five years. 

Dean looks exactly the same, except for the wide-eyed shock on his face as he stands with his mouth agape, and he glances down at the ring Cas wears before he takes his hand.

Dean's throat goes completely dry when the figure talking to Cain turns to him and he catches sight of those eyes, still as brilliantly blue as he imagines them to be in his dreams. Cas holds out a hand for Dean to shake, and he glances at it before taking it in his own.

 _Is that--_ he thinks for a fleeting second before encompassing Cas's fingers with his, and of all the ways he imagined he might touch Cas again, this was never one of them. He can feel the metal of the ring Cas wears as he grips his hand, and every part of him rejoices to think that it might be the same one he gave him long ago. 

Cain gives him an odd look at the obvious tension between the two of them, and he's grateful when Cas takes it upon himself to act professional and start telling them what he needs. Dean trails behind Cain the whole time, trying to figure out what he should say to Cas as soon as he gets the opportunity. An apology should come first, certainly. Maybe Cas would let him take him out for a beer, and they could catch up and Dean could explain.

Except...Cain introduced him as Novak. Castiel _Novak_. God, that name sounds familiar, but he can't place it. Maybe it belongs to someone Cas knew at school, someone he told him about at one point or another. Why would that be Cas's last name now?

 _Some people change their name when they get married_.

Dean's glad that Cain and Cas seem to have forgotten about him, because he's sure his face goes stark white even under his tan, right there in the California sun.

Of course. Of _course_.

Dean broke Cas's heart, left him without explanation or apology, and Cas went back to school in Boston and never tried to look for Dean. Probably because he found someone to help him get over it, someone who gives him everything Dean can't. Someone Chuck found acceptable. Someone with the last name Novak.

He's happy for Cas, wants to tell him so, but it's neither the time nor the place, and even if it were he doesn't think he could get the congratulations past the taste of ashes in his own mouth.

Cas only gets through the next half hour of his life by drawing on every ounce of professional detachment he possesses. He is cordial but distant with Dean, focusing most of his attention on Cain as they move around the property and discuss what needs to be done. Even so, he can feel his presence at all times like a homing beacon that's been out of range until now. Dean maintains a respectful distance the entire time, and Cain gives him an odd look once or twice but doesn't say anything, though Cas has a feeling that Dean will be expected to answer to him later.

By the time they've gone through the whole property the movers have arrived, and Cas excuses himself to deal with them while Cain and Dean -- _Dean Winchester --_ get to work. At the first opportunity he locks himself into the powder room in the first floor hallway, leaning against the sink with both hands and trying to calm his whirling thoughts. 

He splashes some water on his face and takes several deep breaths before getting back to the task at hand, directing the movers into the correct rooms with their boxes, feeling a slight pang of guilt at the sheer amount of books they have to carry. 

Once they’ve finished he follows the last of them back outside, only to realize that Cain has left. Dean stands by his truck, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, and Cas swallows as he approaches. He's spent the last five years rehearsing all the things he'd say if he ever saw Dean again, but he never anticipated that he'd be mute when the time came.

Dean glances away as he gets close, and Cas is surprised at just how much it guts him that Dean can't even look him in the eye. Questions are bouncing around in his mind at a furious pace -- _Where have you been? Why did you do it? Was it worth it? Are you happy? --_ but he can't seem to make himself articulate them.

"I wanted to thank you for not making a scene in front of Cain," Dean says timidly, and Cas just nods. "I know I didn't deserve that." Now Cas is the one to look away, staring across the grounds with his hands in his pockets. "You won't have to call and tell him you don’t want to use our service anymore, either. I’ll explain to him why we lost the contract." Something about that statement irritates him, enough to finally loosen his tongue.

"I've never been that petty. It's rude for you to assume I've become so in the last five years." He feels all his quiet resignation move to the back of the bus, and his anger get behind the wheel. "You're not in any position to know what I would do or what influences my decisions." He looks directly at Dean now and holds out his left hand, gesturing for the invoice. 

Dean looks down at the paper before carefully handing it over, making sure their fingers don't touch, and Cas pretends to study it so he has something to look at. 

"You changed your last name," Dean says quietly. "I didn't know who you were when I saw _Novak_ on the list of appointments today."

"Yes, well. I never imagined I'd see you again, and I didn’t know you worked for this company, so you can disabuse yourself of the notion that I used deception to get you here." It seems anger is not only driving the bus, but has decided to put both feet on the gas. 

"That's not what I meant, it's just..." Dean puts a hand through his hair, the way he always did when frustrated, and Cas clenches his jaw so hard it hurts. "I wouldn't have come, if I'd known. It's probably better if you pretend I didn't, Cas."

"Oh, and I suppose you know what's best for me?" Cas grits out through his teeth. "Don't worry. I have every intention of forgetting you were here." He holds up the invoice as he fixes Dean with a cold stare. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get paid. I know how important that is to you.”

He turns on his heel and storms into the house, grateful for its echoing emptiness as he slams the door. His heart is beating wildly, and he's not sure if it's his hands that are trembling or his whole body. He leans against the closed door and slides down to the floor as he hears the roar of a truck engine start up, and then the fading sound of it moving down the street. 

Cas leans his head back against the door, struggling to calm himself. When he thinks he has his breathing back under control, he stands and looks through the window to make sure Dean is gone before he goes back outside to make a phone call, praying with each ring that Charlie's flight has landed and she can answer.

"Hey Cas, what's going on? I just got into a cab," Charlie says when she picks up in the middle of the fourth ring.

“Dean was here,” is all he gets out before he breaks down, sinking onto the grass of the front lawn as he sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

_August 2011_

The remainder of the summer is both the best and worst time of Dean's life. Ever since that fateful July night, he and Cas have found a way to fit their lives together that makes him rueful of the time they wasted, dancing around their attraction, made hesitant by their own insecurities. Because every day that passes, either in a flurry of text messages or a stolen hour or two of heated kisses in the back of Dean's car, is another day closer to the inevitable. 

Sam departs for California tomorrow, just a week before Labor Day, and Dean will be left alone to deal with the wrath John is sure to let loose. He plans to just make himself as scarce as possible, hopefully with Cas, who doesn't fly back to school until next Sunday. 

As he approaches their spot for his lunch break, he can't help the sly grin that breaks across his face as he spots those tennis whites again. Being with Cas is a revelation, because each time Dean thinks finally he'll be used to seeing him, but just a glimpse has his pulse racing and his blood heating beneath his skin.

Dean remembers thinking he was in love when he was sixteen, with a girl named Robin that he met in upstate New York, before John inevitably made them move on. He was crushed for weeks thinking of the girl he'd left behind, swearing he'd get back to her someday. The loss of that feeling, of her memory, had been so gradual that it wasn't until he was eighteen and Sam made an offhand comment about when they lived there that Dean even remembered her name. She had slipped away from him little by little, the ache in his heart dissipating the way air leaks out of a balloon until it starts to sag, lower and lower each day until it collapses into itself. 

As Castiel smiles up at him, blue eyes twinkling with the sun that breaches the leaves above, Dean knows for certain that this is what real love feels like, and that it will never leave him.

He drops his lunch and lowers himself above Castiel, hovering on his arms as he leans down and gives him an enthusiastic kiss. Cas responds in kind, his hands reaching up to grab Dean's hips, pulling at them to try and press their bodies together.

"Cas," Dean says, pulling away with a chuckle, "I'm all sweaty right now."

"That's the opposite of a deterrent, Dean," Cas responds with a grin, pulling Dean's weight into his body and rolling them over. It makes Dean's heart skip a beat when Cas gets demanding and forceful, and though their make out sessions get pretty heavy they haven't gotten much further than desperately rubbing against one another. Cas pushes all of his buttons, tries to take them further each time, but Dean is always the one to pull away. He knows it's a terrible cliche, but he wants their first time together to be in a bed where he can lay Cas out, take the time to learn the map of his skin. He wants to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, soft and sated, then wake up together in the first light of morning. He _wants_ this, and he's willing to wait for it.

They kiss pleasantly for a few minutes before Cas pulls away reluctantly so Dean can eat his lunch. 

"Are you sure you're not mad that I won't see you tonight?" Dean asks between mouthfuls, unable to stop worrying about it. Because of how frequently Dean works, Sunday evenings is usually the only time they get to spend a few hours together, but Sam is departing tomorrow so the brothers are getting everything packed up tonight. John's been out of town all week and Dean is really hoping their luck holds out, that Sam can be on the road eating up miles before their dad even knows he's gone. 

"Of course not, Dean," Cas says fondly, having answered this question half a dozen times already. "Help your brother get packed up and spend some time with him. You don't know when you'll see him again."

"As opposed to when I'll see you again?" He knows there's a desperate edge to his voice, but he can't help it. Boston is far, far away from Colorado.

"I'll be home just after Christmas. I wish I could come home sooner, but we always do the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays with Naomi, they’re huge events. The whole family descends on Boston, but we’ll fly back the day after Christmas. Then I’ll have to go to the charity auction at the country club on New Year’s Eve with my parents.” He looks hesitant before leaning into Dean, like he's unable to resist being near him even in the sweltering heat of late summer. "It's usually boring and I hate every second, but the food is always really good and this year I'll be able to legally drink. It would be really nice if I had someone there to help me get through it." He stops talking, and it takes a second for Dean to process what he's asking, and the moment it clicks he stops eating for a full minute. 

"You want _me_ to come? As your, as your..."

"As my boyfriend?"

"Your. Boyfriend." Dean enunciates these two words slowly and clearly, and Cas suddenly looks like he made a terrible mistake.

"I thought, I mean, maybe it's presumptuous of me..." he trails off, looking sick. "I thought that's what we were. I'm sorry if I misunderstood." He stands up suddenly, grabbing his racket. "I should go."

Dean's brain suddenly comes back online, the joyful shock he felt at the word 'boyfriend' dissipating as he realizes how it must look. He desperately grabs the fabric of Cas's shorts, holding tight as he tries to flee.

"Cas, wait! Wait a second, I'm just...you really want that?" He can't keep the disbelief out of his voice, but it's probably for the best in this situation. "With me?"

"Who else?"

"It's just," Dean flounders, searching for the right word. "I don't have anything to offer you. Not like," he lets go of Cas's shorts and gestures in the direction of the country club grounds, "everyone else in this place."

Cas looks at him for a minute, dumbstruck, then kneels next to him in the grass. "If any of _them_ had anything to offer that I wanted, don't you think that's where I'd be?" he asks softly, and something in Dean's chest loosens. 

"Then I guess I have plans for New Year's," he replies, and Castiel smiles brightly enough to rival the sun.

The negative energy that constantly surrounds his parents isn't enough to pierce the bubble of happiness Cas is still floating in as they drive home from the club late that afternoon. He knows he's staring goofily out the back window at all the passing scenery, but he just can't help himself.

Dean is his _boyfriend_ , and it makes him feel like he finally has permission for everything he's been feeling, like he doesn't have to hold back anymore, and he can't help indulging in fantasies of their life together. He wishes he could be done school already, but it's only another year, and then he'll be back. He has no doubt that after that, any plans he makes for the future will include Dean. 

He gets out of the car after they pull into the garage and makes a beeline for his bedroom, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. He puts his racket in the closet, wondering if he can get away with changing into his pajamas now instead of after dinner, since he's not meeting Dean. He pulls out his favorite pair of sleep pants and a worn t-shirt, but there's a knock at the door before he can change.

"Come in," he calls, already knowing who it is. His mother hasn't come to his room since he was in the tenth grade, he sees no reason for her to start now. Chuck pokes his head in, and Cas gestures for him to come in and sit down. "What's up, Dad?" He sits on the bed across from his father, leaning back on his hands.

Chuck looks unsure of where to start, rolling a strange looking tube in his hands, then finally grips it tightly and looks Cas in the eye. They haven't spoken candidly since the day Chuck broke the news of the impending separation, so Cas braces himself for what's to come.

"I hate that I have to talk to you about these things," Chuck starts, and Cas nods in understanding. "Nothing has been decided yet, but your mother wants to give it until the end of the year before we make a formal decision."

"Why?"

"Your mother doesn't want talk of our problems being the hottest holiday gossip. You know how many social events we have during that time of the year." 

"So for the sake of appearances, you're both going to drag this out?"

"Castiel. It's really none of your business how your mother and I conduct our private affairs," he says heatedly, and Cas feels chagrined. 

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just...I don't like seeing you like this. You're unhappy, you're distant even with me, and I hate it."

"I know," Chuck looks down at the tube in his hands. "It's just that I really don't want to be around anyone at the moment." 

"I understand," Cas says, because he does. He knows exactly which parent he gets his introverted traits from.

"I need to ask a favor. It's for insurance purposes, asset management type things." He holds up the tube. "I, um, I need to take a DNA swab from you. Is that okay?"

Castiel goes cold inside at the request. Something about it doesn't seem right. What kind of insurance issue requires a DNA test? 

"Dad..." 

"Please, Cas," Chuck says plaintively, and Cas quiets the dissenting voice inside him.

"Of course, Dad. I told you I'd do anything you need." He holds out his hand, opening the container to find two elongated cotton swabs, and follows Chuck's quiet directions to swipe them on the inside of his cheek, then place them back into the tube. Chuck stands up as he gives it back, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning down to kiss him on the top of his head.

"Your mother is leaving for some spa retreat in an hour, and she won't be back before you leave for school." Cas can't even feign surprise. "I'm leaving for the airport now myself, have to be in New York for the week. I’ll try to be back before Saturday." He leaves without waiting for a response, and Cas sits in stunned silence for a few minutes, wondering if everything he knows about himself is wrong.

Dean clocks out of the country club at six, exhausted after another long day of physical labor outside and disheartened by the prospect of more labor when he gets home. Normally he would go home and make dinner for both him and Sam if he wasn't working, then take a long shower before going back out to pick up Cas. Sunday evenings are his favorite, because while they've always been the one night he didn't have to work, he's always spent them alone before. Sunday nights have always been a haven, but now they're special because they belong to Cas.

Tonight it's special for a less happy reason, because he's going to help Sam pack up the Impala, ready to escape in the morning to a whole new life. 

It doesn't take them long, because in the end neither of them really have very many belongings. The trunk of the Impala is mostly filled with books, and all of Sam's clothes are in the backseat. Everything personal is in his duffel bag, the same duffel each of them have had since they were kids, and Dean still vividly remembers when everything they owned in the world fit into one. He's proud, as he looks at the loaded up Impala, to think that he's given Sam this chance to accumulate _things_ , to have the stability he didn't have at that age. 

They stand together for a moment, just taking it in, and then Dean reaches up to take his giant little brother in a headlock, and Sam laughs as he pushes Dean away.

"Come on. I ordered pizza, it should be here soon," Dean says, heading back up to their dingy apartment. "It's a special occasion, so I thought I'd splurge." 

"Yeah, about that," Sam says smugly, "I may have splurged on a blueberry pie after my last shift at the grocery store today. It's hiding on the top shelf of our closet."

"Holy shit, Sammy, you've got the right idea."

Dean opens the door to the pizza guy ten minutes later while Sam sets up the ancient DVD player that's attached to their relic of a television. They can't afford cable, but thanks to the discount bin at Walmart they've got a good selection of movies, and Dean's not surprised when Sam puts on _The Thing_. 

"Are we having a John Carpenter marathon before you leave?" he asks, setting the pizza on the coffee table along with a large bottle of soda. He grabs a couple of glasses and plates from the kitchen, only to find Sam already eating his first piece when he gets back to the couch. "Animal," he says, handing him a plate.

They've finished the pizza and are about halfway through the movie when the unexpected happens.

A key turns in the lock, and John Winchester enters the apartment, seething fury.

"Someone want to explain to me why the Impala is downstairs with a back seat full of clothes? Do we still live here, or are we being evicted?" he asks hotly, turning to Dean. 

"No, Dad, we're not being evicted," he replies, annoyed that this is the first thing John thinks when he's not even there most of the time, and barely contributes to the household when he is. They don't even know where he goes anymore, how he earns any money. They've both been working so much that even when he _is_ home, they barely have to interact with him.

"Then explain to me what's happening with the car. You moving out, Dean? Leaving your brother here all alone?"

"What, like you do?" Dean retorts, unable to help himself, righteous indignation rising within him. How dare his father question his loyalty to their family, to his brother.

"Dean isn't the one leaving," Sam says, standing up, his full height enough to intimidate most people. John is not most people.

"Oh, and where do you think _you're_ going?" 

"Far away from you, that's where I'm going!"

"Like hell you are, boy!"

"There's no reason for me to stay here, Dad!" Sam is shouting now, fists clenched at his sides, and John stalks into the center of the room.

"Family sticks together," he growls lowly, pointing a finger in Sam's direction. "Family don't abandon each other for their own selfish reasons."

Sam leans over the coffee table, getting into John's space. "You. Are a fucking. Hypocrite." They glare at one another as Dean holds his breath, but then John moves to shove Sam back roughly. He falls onto the couch, which skids back at the impact, and as John comes around the coffee table Dean puts himself between them.

"Dad! Stop it!" he cries, holding up his hands. He's had a lifetime of learning to deflect John's temper when it gets bad, but he's never actually laid a hand on either one of them before. Dean can smell stale whiskey on his dad's breath, but he doesn't actually think he's drunk right now, and that makes it worse. 

John pokes Dean in the chest, then raises the finger to point in his face. "You get out of my way and let me teach your brother some respect." He goes to shove Dean aside, but instead Dean reacts the only way he thinks he can. Grabbing John's arm, he uses his own body weight to pull him off balance, throwing him to the floor and knocking the wind out of him. He looks at his brother, sitting shocked on the couch that's now sitting askew in the living room.

"Go now, Sam. You have to go."

"Dean," Sam says, rising up from the sofa, but he can see John getting to his feet out of the corner of his eye.

" _Just go_!" he screams, and Sam clenches his jaw and nods, moving briskly to the door and grabbing the car keys as he leaves. Dean hears the door click shut with an air of finality, and he turns back to John, who's now on his feet and moving to head out after Sam. He moves to block John's exit, not caring what happens, only knowing that Sam needs to get away. 

"You let me by, boy, or there's going to be hell to pay."

"No," Dean says, and then he hears the throaty roar of the Impala's engine in the distance. He smirks at John. "Too late now."

John leans back on his heels, and Dean closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see his father's fist coming. 

Cas has been laying on his bed ever since his dad left, idly watching TV for hours. He desperately wants to text Dean, but doesn't want to interrupt his last night with his brother, so he decides it can wait until tomorrow. 

He's startled when his phone goes off after nine o'clock, and he lazily reaches over to the nightstand to grab it off the charger, sitting up in surprise when he sees who's calling.

"Dean? I'm surprised to hear from you," he says. There's no response from the other end at first, just the sound of ragged breathing. "Dean?" 

"Cas?" says a voice from the other end, but it's so pained that he almost doesn't recognize it. 

"What's happened? Dean, talk to me!"

"I just wanted to hear your voice," Dean says weakly.

"What's wrong?" He jumps up from the bed, frantically searching for a pair of shoes, then pulling them on one handed as he grips the phone. "Where are you? I'm coming to get you."

"No, no, you can't. Don't come here, Cas."

"You're at home, aren't you? Dean Winchester, so fucking help me, you tell me your address right now or I will employ illicit means to get it." He's surprised at the commanding growl in his own voice, but he knows he means every word. "If you think I don't have a connection that can get me that information out of the employee records from the club you are sorely mistaken." He rushes down the staircase, opening the garage door and saying a silent prayer of thanks that Chuck always uses a car service to go to the airport.

"Cas, I'll tell you the name of the apartments, but...I'll meet you in the parking lot. You can't come up here!" There's a frantic edge in Dean's voice now and his breath is harsher, but Cas acquiesces and Dean tells him the name of the apartment complex and which lot to pull into just as he slides behind the wheel of Chuck's BMW.

He drives as fast as he dares, wary of getting pulled over and wasting time getting to Dean. He finally pulls into the complex twenty-five minutes later, turning into the third parking lot on the left and driving slowly to the end of the lot before pulling to a stop.

A shadowed figure comes out from behind a dumpster, and it takes a minute before he realizes it's Dean.

He jumps out of the car and runs over, putting an arm around him and helping him into the passenger side of the car. Dean is dragging a worn duffel bag, and Cas puts it on the floor of the car and gets back into the driver's seat.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath as he throws the car into reverse. Dean had walked with a severe limp, clutching his ribs, and his face is battered. "I need to get you to the hospital."

"No! No, Cas, no hospital." 

"What? Dean, what..."

"Cas, please. I _can't_ go to the hospital. I just need to be somewhere else for a few days. There's a motel over on Sunset..."

"No fucking way. You're coming to my house."

"But your parents..."

"Are not there, and it wouldn't matter if they were. I'm just lucky Dad hates to leave his car in the airport lot."

"Cas..."

"Don't you dare argue with me right now. I'm going to take care of you, and you're going to deal with it."

Dean slumps back against the seat, defeated, and Cas bites his tongue against the slew of questions he wants to ask but decides it's better to wait. He needs to get Dean somewhere safe first, clean him up, and then find out what happened. 

"Is Sam alright?" It's the only thing he needs to know right now. If Dean's brother is in trouble, Cas will do whatever he can to help him, too.

"Yeah," Dean manages to get out. "Got him out and on the road before shit went down."

They don't say anything else the entire ride, not until Castiel closes the garage door behind them and gets out of the car to help Dean. 

"The rear staircase is too narrow for me to help you navigate, so we're going to have to go through the main foyer. Just hang on to me." It feels like it takes forever, but Dean doesn't complain as they navigate the first floor and up the front staircase. They get into the room and he lowers Dean gently onto the bed, kneeling down to remove his shoes. He looks at him properly for the first time.

Dean's shirt is covered with blood, most of which seems to have come from his nose. It's stopped bleeding, thankfully, but there are bruises beginning to purple all over Dean's face. He grabs the hem of Dean's t-shirt and gingerly helps to remove it, standing to pull it off of him. Dean hisses as he raises his left arm, and once Cas tosses the shirt aside and looks down he gasps in shock as he sees why.

"Oh my god, Dean." His left side is a giant hematoma of angry red, purpling along the edges, and Castiel has a moment of utter clarity. "Your dad came home, didn't he? He came home, you got Sam out of there, and he took it out on you. Jesus Christ." Dean hangs his head, and Cas breathes out through his nose as he tries to calm down. "We'll talk about this later. Come on." 

He helps Dean to stand and shuffle into his bathroom, sitting him on the toilet. He wets a rag with warm water, cleaning all the blood off Dean's face as gently as he can before moving on to his chest. Dean's jaw is clenched the whole time, but he doesn't stop him. It looks like most of the damage is on the left side of Dean's face, and there's a small gash on that eye. Cas bandages it with something from the first aid kit in his medicine cabinet before helping Dean to stand again. He knows Dean is in a terrible headspace, but the fact that he doesn't even make a joke when Cas unbuttons his jeans and helps him step out of them is not a good sign. 

They shuffle back out to the bedroom, and Cas sits him on the bed again and helps him to lie back. 

"Just rest. I'm going to go get some stuff from the kitchen."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean whispers, closing his eyes.

He heads down to the kitchen, grabbing two water bottles out of the fridge before getting a couple of clean dish towels out of a drawer and the largest bowl he can find out of a cabinet. He fills the bowl to the brim with ice, then piles the water bottles, towels, and a bottle of pain relievers on top of it before rushing back upstairs. Dean still has his eyes closed until Cas sets the bowl on his nightstand, and he helps him raise his head enough to take a couple of pills with a sip of water before filling a towel with ice and handing it to Dean to hold to his eye. He pours the remaining ice into another towel and wraps it up to hold to Dean's side. 

"Dean, what if some of your ribs are broken? I really think you should go to the hospital."

"Can't. No insurance." 

"Jesus Christ." He hates that he can't offer to pay, that he's only got two hundred dollars of his own in the bank and he knows that will never cover it. Worse, he knows Dean would never accept if he offered anyway. There will be a time when nothing can stop him from giving Dean everything, but that's not helping at the moment. "You're staying here. I know you don't want to hear this, but you're not going to be able to go to work for a few days."

"Yeah. I already called out for tomorrow at both places. I actually have a lot of sick time accrued at the garage, I've never taken a day in all the time I've worked there. No sick time at the college, but it won't be a complete tragedy since I don't have to feed Sam anymore. That moose could _eat_." He sighs. "This was not what I pictured when I thought about us spending the night together for the first time." 

Cas curls up on his right side, keeping an arm across his torso to hold the ice in place, and Dean turns his head just enough to press a kiss to his forehead. 

"You're safe here," Cas whispers. _In my heart_ , he thinks, but doesn't say.

Dean wakes up in nothing but his boxer briefs, lying on his back in the gray light of morning, disoriented and in pain. He realizes exactly where he is when he feels a warm body pressed up against him under the blankets in what is probably the most comfortable bed he's ever slept in. He remembers holding an ice pack to his face as Cas held one against his ribs, neither of them saying much. Cas must have taken the ice packs off and gotten him under the blankets somehow after he fell asleep, curling up beside him in the dark. 

Cas is still lying on his side facing Dean, his breathing soft and even, one arm curled under his pillow while his other hand is wrapped around Dean's bicep. He wants to turn towards him, wake him up with a kiss, but his side is throbbing and his bladder is full and one of those issues needs to be addressed right now. 

He tries to move gingerly, and though he manages to sit up on his own he can't stop the grunt of pain that comes out of him. He feels stiff and sore, but he manages to stand and shuffle into the bathroom, taking care of what he needs to do before he looks at himself in the mirror above the sink. 

His left eye is black and blue, the small band-aid Cas placed above his eyebrow the night before standing out much more starkly because of the dark tinge of his skin. His left cheek is bruised, but not as badly, and thanks to the ice the swelling isn't as bad as it could be. He carefully raises his left arm, bending his elbow and angling the arm behind his head. It hurts, but there is no sharp stabbing pain, and he feels tenderly along his ribs. Nothing seems to be broken, and he breathes a sigh of relief. That would have been the worst thing that could happen. He'd broken two ribs in the car accident that had totalled the Impala, and he remembers that too vividly to want to repeat the experience. 

_You let me by, boy, or there's going to be hell to pay._

John had punched him twice before he went down, and then kicked him at least three times before he'd stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door, and Dean never raised a hand to him. 

He can't say whether it's because he couldn’t bring himself to hit his father back, or because he knew if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He leans against the sink and breathes out through his nose, wondering what he should do now, until there's a light knock on the door. 

"Dean? Are you alright?"

Shame and embarrassment well up in him as he remembers how he'd gotten himself out of the apartment and down to the parking lot, dreading the whole time that John would come after him, would try to prevent him from leaving like he had with Sam. The fact that he'd let Dean go without chase hurt worse than his fists, and in a moment of weakness he'd pulled out his phone, miraculously undamaged, and called the only other person he thought might care about him.

"Yeah, Cas," he says, his voice breaking a little. Cas doesn't say anything, but Dean doesn't hear him walk away. 

"There are spare toothbrushes in the bottom drawer, if you want." 

"I do. Thanks. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

"Of course, Dean."

He hears Cas move away from the door, so he opens the drawer to find a couple of brand new toothbrushes still in their packages. Cas is currently using one in purple, so Dean selects an orange one for himself, placing it in the toothbrush holder when he's finished, smiling a little at the sight.

The bedroom is empty when he comes out, but the pain reliever is still on the nightstand so he takes a couple of pills and washes them down with lukewarm bottled water just as Cas comes back in the room, carrying a towel in one hand and a fresh bowl of ice in the other. He's still in the sleep pants he was wearing last night but his chest is bare and his hair is a riot of strands atop his head. He gives Dean a tentative smile.

"I put your clothes in the washer, but your shirt..." he trails off, looking uncomfortable. "I don't think all of that blood is going to come out. I have some things you could borrow?"

"Thanks," he says, his smile no doubt more of a grimace given how much half his face still hurts. Cas goes into his closet, shuffling around, and Dean sits carefully on the bed. He hates that this is how he and Cas got to wake up together for the first time, how their first night spent together will always be remembered. 

Maybe he can salvage this a little.

"Hey, Cas?" He calls out, and Cas comes back into the room with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, looking at him curiously. "Uh, maybe you could help me? Take a shower, I mean." He looks down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed to have asked. Cas probably can't stand to look at him now, with his skin a mess of bruises, so he holds his breath as he sees Cas's feet come to a stop before him. A hand gently cradles his chin, and Dean lifts his head the gentle press of those fingers. 

Cas smiles softly at him, then cups his face gently. "If you're sure. I don't want to overstep your boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Dean blinks in confusion, because he's pretty sure he doesn't have any of those when it comes to Cas.

"You always stop me when I try to take things beyond second base. Are you sure you'd be comfortable being nude in the shower with me?"

"You think that's because I'm uncomfortable?" He's a little shocked at this revelation, because all he'd ever thought of was being respectful. He reaches up to clasp Cas at the wrists, rubbing his thumbs against the pulse points. "There is nothing I want more than to be close to you in every way possible."

"Then why?"

"Cas," he says, carefully getting to his feet and clasping his shoulders. "I don't want to fumble around with you in a cramped backseat, or a blanket in the dirt, like we're just horny teenagers looking to get off." He leans down to kiss him softly on the lips before drawing back to lean their foreheads together, closing his eyes against his confession. "I want to be able to take our time together, get to know each other's bodies at our leisure, and wake up together after exhausting one another half the night." 

He waits, unsure of how Cas will react, wondering if it's too much. He feels a tentative touch against his skin, the pads of fingers glancing off his hip bones, and then a soft kiss on his lips that makes him open his eyes. Cas smiles at him softly, then takes his hand to lead him into the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything as he leans into the stall to turn on the water, finally dropping Dean’s hand and maneuvering him to lean against the sink. Cas hooks his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs and looks up at him.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, and Dean just nods. Cas slips his hands under the elastic, moving them around to cup the globes of Dean’s ass briefly before he pushes the material down to pool around his feet. He steps away to check the water temperature before turning back to hold a hand out to Dean, who feels a sense of security wash over him as he takes it and lets Cas place him under the spray.

Cas divests himself of his own boxers and follows, silently taking the soap in his hands and working it into a lather before he carefully washes the dried blood off Dean’s skin, running his hands tenderly over the bruised and tender parts of his body. It’s more clinical than sensual, but even so Dean feels as though he’s never been touched as intimately by another person all his life. 

“Cas,” Dean starts, breath hitching in his throat as those hands still on his hips. Cas looks up at him, eyes fond and soft, and Dean can’t think of anything else to do except wrap his arms around him. They stand together under the spray, their soapy bodies pressed together, and he turns to whisper a thank you in Cas’s ear.

“Of course, Dean,” he says in response before returning to his task. "Your current injuries are the only reason I'm not throwing you onto the bed right now to take you apart with my mouth and my fingers," Cas says in a voice that seems to have dropped two octaves in the last five minutes. It works its way down Dean's spine like a lightly drawn fingertip and he shudders in anticipation. "As it is, we’ll table that for later.”

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Okay, Cas.” 

They finish the rest of the shower in silence, and he lets Cas dry him off, treating his injuries with care and helping him dress in some borrowed clothes before putting him right back to bed. They spend the day binge-watching Netflix, the two of them carefully curled around each other.

 _So this is what it feels like to be cared for,_ Dean thinks idly, dozing to the sensation of Cas pressing soft kisses into the nape of his neck, and wonders how he can keep it.

It takes another day before Dean doesn’t feel a twinge every single time he moves, and he stretches when he wakes up, enjoying the painless pull of his muscles. 

“I guess I don’t need any help in the shower this morning,” he says, turning to put his feet on the floor and glancing over his shoulder at Cas. He’s surprised by what he sees there: a look of intent so strong that his breath catches in his throat.

Cas throws back the covers and gets out of bed, coming around to stand in front of Dean, leaning down to kiss him fiercely. “Maybe you don’t need help, per se,” he says throatily as he breaks off the kiss. “But I really think I should examine you myself, if you’ll let me.”

He takes a stunned Dean by the hand and leads him into the bathroom. Dean is practically vibrating in his skin as Cas turns back to him and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, catching Dean's gaze. Cas keeps eye contact with him as he pushes the briefs down over the crest of Dean's ass, then slowly sinks to his knees before him, dragging them down to his ankles and dropping them to pool on the floor. 

Dean is breathing heavily now as he stands naked before Cas, chest heaving as though he's run a race, and Cas puts his palms on Dean's calves. He slowly runs them up his legs, the touch tickling the back of Dean's knees and making him gasp as they run lightly up the back of his thighs, skimming over his ass before settling firmly on his hips. Only then does Cas break eye contact, moving his gaze to Dean's length, already half hard at the sight of Cas before him. 

Cas leans in and presses a kiss to the side of his shaft, then stands up and pulls at the drawstring of his own sleep pants, letting them fall to the floor as well before taking Dean's hand again and leading him into the shower. 

Cas is still gentle with Dean in deference to his injuries, leaning him against the tile opposite the showerhead as the air fills with steam around him. "Don't move," is all he says, and then he begins laving at Dean's right nipple, gently stroking his left until both they and his cock are standing at attention. Dean can't believe how hard he is already, but he's not alone judging by the length pressed against his thigh. 

Cas leans back in to kiss Dean, intently but without being rough, twining their tongues together as he finally takes Dean into his hand, stroking him firmly a few times. 

"Oh god, Cas," he says, throwing back his head. "This is not going to take long." He's not even embarrassed as he says it, because how else can he be expected to react when the man he's been dreaming of all summer is so gloriously naked and wet before him? Cas smirks at him before taking a bottle from one of the corner shelves and squirting something into his right hand. He cups the unmarred side of Dean's face as he leans back in to kiss him, taking both their cocks in hand, rubbing the substance liberally over them both before he begins to stroke in earnest. 

His hands come up to clutch at Cas's waist, one of them reaching behind to palm at his ass as he steadily takes Dean apart, until he comes with a sharp cry and Cas's name on his lips. Cas continues to stroke him through it until Dean knocks his hand away and takes Cas's still hard member with one hand. He places the other behind Cas's neck and pulls him closer, devouring his mouth as he strokes him until he spills his own release all over Dean's fist.

Dean's sure that if not for the water the shower would be filled with steam anyway. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder as he catches his breath, and Dean smiles into the skin of his neck.

"Finally," Cas mumbles under his breath, and Dean laughs softly before they use the shower for its intended purpose.

They spend that week carefully exploring each other as much as Dean's healing body will allow. They each confess to having gotten tested without the other's knowledge -- Cas the day after the fireworks, and Dean just a week ago, which makes Cas laugh and tease Dean about the special going away present he'd no doubt planned for this week. Dean blushes and tells him to shut up, but doesn't deny it. 

Cas drives Dean into the shop where he works one day during the week so Dean can talk to his boss, Bobby, who takes one look at Dean's face and directs him back to his office. Dean confesses to Cas later that he showed him his torso, too, but couldn't bring himself to say who did it to him.

"I told him I got mugged on Sunday night. I don't think he believes me, but I just can't tell him the truth." Cas doesn't argue, but he thinks he understands. Telling the truth will make it real, and sometimes it's easier to pretend. "He said not to come back until Monday, because he wants me to heal properly before I handle any heavy lifting, and I have the vacation time."

They're out in the pool at the moment, lounging on recliners in the water that are side by side but facing opposite each other while they talk. Dean is running his fingers idly up and down the skin of Cas's forearm, and it gives him thrilling little chills even in the last of the summer sun.

"Dean, what are you going to do?" They both know what Cas means, even though he hasn't broached the subject until now. Dean sighs, moving to grasp his hand instead. 

"I told Bobby a while ago that Sam would be taking my car to school with him, and I'd be walking to work afterwards. I always walked in the beginning, it's why I moved us into the place we're in now, because until I fixed the Impala I had to hoof it everywhere." He runs his finger around the rim of the soda can in the drink receptacle, as if he's remembering. "Anyway, while we were talking today he said that our shop supervisor Ash moved in with his girlfriend, and the room above the garage is mine to have if I want it. I think he kind of wants to keep an eye on me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"No. No, actually. This will sound weird, but I've often felt like Bobby is more of a dad to me than John is. He's salty and gruff most of the time, but he actually cares about all the guys that work for him and tries to do right by them whenever he can." He puts his head back and closes his eyes, letting out a long exhale. "The truth is, I wanted to go with Sam, but part of me felt that I just couldn't leave Dad behind like that. We've argued over the years, and there are a lot of ways I wished he were different, but..." he takes Cas by the hand, though he doesn't open his eyes. "When he started hitting me, Cas, I knew. I knew then that anything worth saving in him wasn't there any longer."

"I'm sorry, Dean." 

"I am, too." They're quiet for a few minutes, just basking in the sun, but then Dean clears his throat and Cas looks at him curiously. "So, uh, if I take Bobby up on his offer, you could come and stay at my place after Christmas. I'll, uh, I'll be all healed by then." Despite his deep summer tan, Dean's blush is visible from his chest to the roots of his hair.

"Are you propositioning me?" Cas teases, and Dean huffs an embarrassed laugh before looking him right in the eyes. 

"I can't think of a better way to ring in the new year than with you inside me," he says lowly, and Cas stops breathing momentarily as he closes his eyes to imagine. He can already feel his blood rushing south at the thought. 

"That sounds very tempting, Dean," he croaks out. "I might want that for myself."

"I'll flip you for it, then."

"Right now I think I should take you upstairs and check your injuries again, make sure you're on the road to recovery." He flips himself out of his lounge chair and into the water before tugging Dean's chair over to the steps and helping him out before kissing him greedily. "I need you to be at a hundred percent capacity for the night I ride you into the sunrise."

"Fuck, Cas." 

"Oh, I will, eventually. For now we'll have to make do," he says, grabbing a nearby towel and drying Dean off, being careful of his still bruised torso, then kneeling before him to pat his legs dry. He pulls at the drawstring of the swim trunks Dean wears. 

"What are you doing?" Dean asks curiously, and Cas looks up and gives him a wicked grin. 

"I need to get you out of these wet clothes," he says, and Dean shakes his head at the corny line but doesn't resist as Cas peels the shorts over his hips and down his legs, where Dean steps out of them. Cas runs the towel along his thighs and his ass, then leans in to mouth at Dean's hardening member. He suckles the tip and then runs his tongue along the now stiff shaft, dropping the towel to take the globes of Dean's ass in his hands as he takes him into his mouth.

Dean gasps and puts his hands on Cas's shoulders to steady himself, and Cas hums along his length as he takes him in and out. He parts Dean's asscheeks and runs the tip of a finger across the furled muscle there, and Dean's whole body twitches at the sensation.

"Jesus, Cas. Let's go inside, please," Dean practically begs, and Cas obliges because he wants Dean to be comfortable. He stands and drops his own wet swim trunks on the patio, then takes Dean by the hand and leads him inside, up the stairs to the bedroom that's been their sanctuary for the last few days.

They're both hard by the time Cas closes the door behind them, and Dean presses him into it, cradling his head in both hands as he kisses him deeply. 

"On the bed, Dean," Cas practically growls when they break apart, and Dean carefully obliges. Cas lies on his uninjured side, pressing his own length into Dean's thigh as he strokes his cock with a loose fist. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? How much I want to take you apart, make you come in my mouth and on my fingers?"

"Oh god, Cas, I want that so much," Dean whimpers. "Don't want to wait."

"I know you don't, but we have to. When we're together like that, I don't want you in any pain." He turns to his nightstand, taking out the bottle of Astroglide in there that will need to be replenished very soon. "In the meantime, I want to give you a taste of what you have to look forward to. Would you like that?" Dean doesn't even speak, just nods rapidly, and Castiel moves down the bed to position himself alongside Dean's legs. 

He sits back on his heels and coats two of his fingers with lube, his gaze on Dean the entire time. Dean looks back, eyes filled with want, his breathing rapid. Cas takes Dean's cock in one hand, reaching into his cleft with the other and rubbing against the muscle. Dean shuts his eyes, throwing his head back with a groan.

"Oh Cas, that feels so good." 

"I'm going to take such good care of you," Cas says, situating himself on his stomach and taking Dean's cock into his mouth as he applies pressure to his rim. He doesn't penetrate him at first, just keeps rubbing in circles, pressing against it as he slowly bobs up and down on his rigid member, circling his tongue around the head on each upstroke and trying to take him a little deeper each time. Cas hasn't had a lot of experience in this department, but just the desire to give Dean pleasure spurs him on, and judging from the sounds coming out of him Dean has no complaints. He works him with deliberate, slow suction until he can feel him getting close, his balls pulling up and his stomach muscles tightening. 

"Cas," Dean croaks out, warning him. His hands are twisting in the sheets now, and Cas takes a deep breath through his nose as he takes him in as far as he can. As Dean's cock hits the back of his throat, he swallows and slips his index finger past the ring of muscle. "Cas!" Dean shouts, throwing his head back against the pillow as he arches off the bed, and then he's coming hard. Cas gags a little, but does his best to swallow as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out, working Dean through his orgasm as he whimpers. When Dean's whole body relaxes, sinking into the bedsheets, Cas pulls off and removes his finger. He grins wickedly as he kisses the inside of Dean's thigh, then gets up to go into the bathroom and wash his hands. 

When he comes back out, Dean is on his back with his head hanging over the side, and he holds out his hands for Cas to come closer. 

"Dean, what..." he starts, but gasps as Dean takes him in hand, bringing his flagging member back to rigidity. 

"Want you to fuck my mouth, Cas," Dean says huskily. "Want to take you in just like this."

"Oh, you clever boy," Cas says through gritted teeth as Dean grabs his hips and guides him in. He rests his hands on the mattress on either side of Dean, and takes his own pleasure from Dean's mouth. He thrusts hesitantly at first, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Dean clearly has other ideas, reaching around to grab at Cas's ass and pull him more forcefully into his throat. It doesn't take long for him to reach his own crest, and when he tries to pull away Dean grabs more tightly and swallows around him until Cas spills down his throat. 

Cas leans down as he pulls out and places a kiss in the center of Dean's chest, then on the bottom of his jaw. He stands up to see Dean grinning at him upside down, and laughs before helping to reposition him on the bed, and then stretching out beside him. 

"That was amazing," Cas says, snuggling up against Dean's good side, tracing circles on his chest with the tip of a finger. 

"Does this mean you'll come stay with me on your holiday break when I have full mobility?" Dean says, leaning to nuzzle into Cas's hair, his voice hoarse. 

"You can count on it." Dean's arm tightens around him, and Cas relaxes against his chest, enjoying their shared certainty of the future.


	6. Chapter 6

_December, 2011_

Dean spends the week leading up to Christmas frantically cleaning his apartment in anticipation of Cas's arrival. He's seen the place before, had insisted on helping Dean retrieve the few things he wanted from his old apartment -- after he'd made sure John wasn't home -- and transporting them to the already furnished room above the garage before he'd gone back to school. It's just an efficiency apartment, but Dean is thrilled to have a place that is all his own for the first time in his life. Everything at the old place had been in John's name even though Dean paid most of the bills, and he wonders if his dad has been evicted yet, or if he even knows Dean is gone. 

The first month after he left, he'd dreaded every day that John would show up at the garage, screaming at Dean to come home. After that he began to relax, his acceptance that it would never happen slowly taking over. It hurts, actually, to know how violently he reacted when Sam was the one leaving but he hasn't made the least bit of effort in regards to Dean. 

Dean has still been working his three jobs all these months, saving all the money he can. He and Sam decided not to waste any trying to meet up for the holidays, but he's not as upset at that as he thought he'd be. Sam has made friends in California and spent Thanksgiving with one of them, then been invited to spend Christmas break with another, and that makes Dean happy. He spent Thanksgiving alone, will spend Christmas alone, too, but he doesn't care. It's all worth it to be able to spend the break with Cas in this tiny little place of his own.

He'd been worried, after Cas left, that once he went back to school he'd forget all about Dean. After all, Cas is a rich kid going to an Ivy League school in a tony city filled with other rich kids. Surely his summer fling with Dean would pale in comparison? 

Instead, Cas texts him at least once every day, and calls every Sunday night when Dean is off. Any fears he had about being a dirty little secret were alleviated when Cas had the phone snatched out of his hand one night, and Dean found himself talking to a very enthusiastic Charlie -- who both squealed at finally talking to him and threatened to serve him his own balls for dinner if he hurt a single hair on her best friend's head.

Knowing Cas is in Boston making everyone aware he has a boyfriend waiting back home makes the distance between them easier. If not for that, Dean would already be making plans to follow Sam to the Pacific coast. Instead he's content to stay here, earning money and dreaming of a future that's finally just for himself. 

Dean doesn’t have to work at the college over the break, and Bobby practically ordered him to use more of his accumulated vacation time for the span of days that Cas would be home. He'd thanked him with a blush. 

"I can always pull you in to help if we need it," Bobby had said gruffly, even though his eyes twinkled with barely repressed mirth. "It's not like you're far off." 

He'll still be working a few shifts at the country club, but he knows Cas won't mind. They have special events during this time of the year, and the tips are too good to pass up when the members are filled with holiday spirit and too much gin.

Two days before Christmas, Dean takes a loaner car from the garage and braves the insanity of the mall a few hours before they close. It's a Saturday so it’s still packed, but the late hour means it's not as bad as it could be. Sam had expressly forbidden Dean from sending him a Christmas gift, insisting that all the money Dean had saved and given to him for school absolved him from that chore for eternity. Dean had still sent him a care package and a card the week prior, because Sam can't tell him what to do. 

Now he wants to try and find something for Cas, but he's at a loss. Granted, Cas basically wants for nothing, and anything he needs his parents can surely provide. Even so, Dean wants to get him something, something that's just for them, but he has no idea what. 

After an hour of frustrated searching, he passes a kiosk that has different kinds of cheap jewelry, and the display of men's rings gives him pause. They're simple, hammered metal for the most part, but some of them have symbols or phrases in Latin stamped on them. Dean recognizes the more popular phrases like _Carpe Diem_ and _In Vino Veritas_ but one in particular catches his eye and he pulls it out of the foam padding to examine it more closely. 

"Excuse me," he says to the vendor when she finishes with the customer she's been helping. "What does this mean?" 

She explains the quote, and he smiles to himself as he tries it on. It doesn't quite fit him, but the fingers of the hand he means it for are thinner, more slender and graceful than his own. 

"I'll take it," he says happily, and accepts when she offers him a special gift box to go with it for a little extra. He's got a spring in his step as he heads back to his car, thinking of how Cas will laugh when he sees the ring, but also understand its deeper meaning: that what he and Dean have together is the real thing. 

He can't keep the smile out of his voice when Cas calls on Christmas Eve, but he manages not to give anything away.

Dean spends Christmas Day watching all the best holiday movies on TV that he can find -- _A Christmas Story, It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street_ \-- and then watches his two favorite Christmas movies of all time on DVD: _Scrooged_ and _Die Hard_. 

Cas sends him amusing texts throughout the day, giving Dean a glimpse into the family celebrations that make him laugh out loud. 

_Cas: My cousin Gabriel has come to family dinner dressed head to toe as an elf, shoes with bells and fake ears included._

_Dean: You've got to be kidding._

_Cas: I swear. This is going to be the best family holiday photo ever._

_Dean: How is everyone reacting?_

_Cas: The entire family is scandalized, except for Naomi. She's so tickled that she giggles every time she catches a glimpse of him._

_Dean: Worth it, then, if you ask me._

_Cas: I'll say. She laughed so hard she cried when he first waltzed in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, though his parents looked like they wanted to sink into the floor._

_Dean: I'm already calling Gabe as my favorite relative. No contest._

Then, at dinner:

_Cas: the entire family seems furious that Naomi has Gabe sitting on her right and me on her left._

_Dean: it's hard being the favorites_

_Cas: I understand why Gabe is. He's just fun_

_Cas: I've never been able to figure out why she loves me, too_

_Dean: because you're wonderful and you want to do good in the world, don't be a moron_

_Cas: well, as I study the rest of the competition I realize that you make an excellent point_

And later: 

_Cas: Mother has not spoken to a single person at this dinner all night except to instruct the waiter to make every martini she drinks stronger than the one before._

_Dean: OMG. How many has she had?_

_Cas: I lost count after the fourth one._

_Dean: I hope your dad is strong enough to carry her out to the car._

_Cas: I think we might need a hand truck. Chuck Shurley does not have very good muscle definition._

Then, just before he goes to sleep, full of pumpkin pie he'd made for himself:

_Cas: I can't wait to go to sleep next to you tomorrow night._

_Dean: So we're going to sleep, then?_

_Cas: I misspoke. I can't wait to fall asleep next to you, completely exhausted, in the wee hours of the morning the day_ after _tomorrow._

Dean's fingers type out three small words, but he second guesses himself before he hits send.

He wants to say it, has been feeling it for months, since the summer if he's truthful. It was too soon, then, and he held it back. The time seems right, now, but he doesn't want to say it in a text. He doesn't want to say it in the throes of passion, either. He's been thinking, instead, that he wants to tell Cas the night of the party as they watch the fireworks that herald the New Year, just like the night they first got together, because everything about Cas lights him up inside the same way.

He erases those words and sends a different three instead.

_I can't wait._

Dean is practically vibrating with anticipation as he waits for Cas to send a text that he can pick him up. He's actually already waiting a few blocks from the development, because then it will only take him a few minutes to get Cas instead of thirty. On Christmas Eve he'd asked Bobby if he could keep using the loaner car if no one needed it, and he'd tossed him the keys with a gruff "Merry Christmas, kid, have fun with your boy."

It's already dark outside, and Dean knows he's wasting gas keeping the engine running, but he doesn't want to get too cold. 

Just after seven, he finally gets the message he's been waiting for.

_Cas: Got a bag packed and am ready to go. What time can you get here?_

_Dean: I'm nearby, be there in ten._

_Cas: ???!!!_

He smiles as he puts the car in drive and navigates to his destination. Cas is already standing on the street as he pulls up, his own smile so bright it rivals the streetlights. Dean has barely pulled the car to a stop when Cas pulls open the passenger door, throws his bag over the headrest into the back, then slides into the seat and pulls Dean in for a kiss. 

Dean wants to take it further, wants to devour Cas with his mouth, but he resolves to get them back to his place before he lets loose with everything he's wanted to do for months. He settles for taking his hand as he drives, rubbing his thumb over the skin and asking Cas about his flight.

"I think my dad and Naomi had a heated exchange before we left this morning," Cas says, looking out the window holiday decorations as they drive through the streets. "I think it's my fault, too."

"Why do you say that?" 

"Well, after breakfast I mentioned something to Naomi that happened over the summer. I'd actually forgotten about it, but something she and I were discussing reminded me." He shifts a little in the seat, grasping Dean's hand more firmly. "Dad had me give him a DNA sample one morning, said it was for insurance purposes."

"What? Are you serious?" He glances over to see Cas nod before he focuses back on the road. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Honestly? It happened the day Sam left, when..."

"Ah, right. Uh, sorry." 

"Don't be, really. Besides, I had something else to occupy me that whole week and it slipped my mind completely," he replies, shaking their clasped hands and giving Dean a wicked grin, and he can't help but laugh.

"So what happened with it?"

"That's just it, I don't know. Naomi asked me to sign some papers relevant to my trust fund, and I remembered that incident. Dad’s never said another word about it, so I assumed he'd gotten what he needed. I asked her if it was relevant for her needs, and she got the strangest look on her face before she said no. Later that morning as I was bringing down my bags I could hear her screaming at Dad in her office, but I couldn't make out whatever they were saying, and he wouldn't discuss it at all. He's been in a foul mood all day, though."

"I guess that's why you were in such a rush for me to come get you, then," Dean teases as he pulls the car into the lot behind the garage, and Cas pokes him in the ribs before he gets out and grabs his bag. 

He opens the rear door to the shop and takes Cas up the stairs to the immediate left, turning right at the top and into a hallway. They pass Bobby's office, which looks out onto the shop floor, and a break room with a small kitchenette, and then beyond that is the apartment that Dean now calls home . 

He opens the door and gestures for Cas to go in first, carrying his bag in behind them. The kitchenette is to the right, and the bathroom is beyond that, but otherwise it's just a room with a bed and a dresser that has a TV sitting on it. It's at that moment that he realizes that they'll be in bed together whenever they're here, because he has nowhere else to sit. He places Cas's bag next to the dresser and stands there, feeling a little sheepish even though Cas has seen this place before, if only briefly. He's rubbing the back of his neck, wondering what to do next, when Cas walks up to him slowly. 

He reaches up to grasp at the lapels of Dean's jacket, then slides it off his shoulders, never breaking eye contact. He tugs at the hem of Dean's sweater, pulling it up as Dean raises his arms above his head and finishes removing it himself. 

"Step out of your shoes, Dean," Cas says lowly, and he obliges, unable to refuse. Cas moves them to the side with his foot, then focuses on the button of Dean's jeans. He unfastens it smoothly, brushing against Dean's groin as he unzips them, then pushes the fabric down his hips until they fall to the floor. Dean is still in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, but he feels completely naked already under the heat of Cas's gaze. Cas runs his hands over Dean's chest, rubbing his nipples through the fabric, and Dean gasps a little bit.

"I want to undress you, too," he says in a whisper, and he hears Cas's breath catch before he nods. Dean repeats the same actions, sliding his jacket from his shoulders, pulling his sweater up over his head. Cas is wearing a belt, though, and he unbuckles it before pulling it sinuously out of the loops, dropping it on the floor. The shoes and jeans are next, and then he can't hold back any longer, cupping the back of Cas's head as he kisses him deeply. Cas winds his arms around Dean, one hand between his shoulder blades, the other resting on the base of his spine. 

"Dean," Cas says with a gasp as he pulls away. "I've missed you so much." 

"I'm so glad you're home," he responds, and he doesn't mean the state or Cas's parents' house, or even here in the apartment. He means with _him_. 

Cas takes him by the hand as he backs up a few feet, sprawling on the bed and pulling Dean down with him. They kiss languidly, taking the time to reconnect and map each other's mouths again. Dean removes his own t-shirt and Cas follows suit, and it feels so good to press their skin together. He hovers over Cas, rolling his hips into him as they both grow hard in their boxers. 

"You feel so good," Cas groans, grasping at Dean's hips. Dean leans in to mouth at his neck, to tongue the depression between his collarbones, to suck at each of his nipples as Cas pants beneath him. 

"It's your turn to lie still now," Dean growls, remembering how frustrating it was when his ribs were too tender for him to do any of the things he wanted to at the end of the summer. "The building is empty and no one can hear us, so I'm going to make you scream."

"I hope you mean in a good way, not a 'now I reveal myself to be a psycho killer' kind of way," Cas says breathlessly, and Dean gives him a wolfish grin as he relieves him of his underwear, throwing it over his shoulder before he leans in to take Cas's now hard length into his mouth. 

Cas throws his head back on the pillow with a groan, threading his fingers through Dean's hair to ground himself. Dean savors the sensation of Cas on his tongue again, breathing through his nose as he takes him in as deeply as possible. He's a little out of practice thanks to their long separation, but he doubts Cas has any complaints since he can't seem to form any actual words as Dean uses his tongue in ways that are probably still illegal in several states.

Dean would love to make Cas come fast and hard, but he doesn't want to rush this reunion. After a few minutes he reluctantly pulls away, then fishes around in the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube and the strip of condoms that he bought recently. He hesitates for a second, unsure of how to proceed. He doesn't think they need condoms, doesn't really want to use them even though it makes cleaning up easier. He's only been with Cas since he was tested in the summer, and he doesn't think Cas has been with anyone else but it would be irresponsible not to ask, but he already gave him head and what if...

Cas places a hand on his thigh, and he realizes he's been caught up in his own thoughts. 

"Come here," he says softly, and Dean puts the items down on the coverlet before stretching out next to Cas again, who turns on his side and kisses Dean lightly. "What is it?"

"Uh, well, I got, uh, lube and condoms and stuff for us, but..." He knows he should ask, but he can't bring himself to, because what if he doesn't like the answer? It will ruin everything. He's not even sure he could blame Cas, really, if he got lonely at school and just needed a release and...

"Dean." Cas takes his face in both hands, and Dean is embarrassed now because he's killing the mood with this train of thought. Cas looks him in the eye for a few minutes, then down at the items between them. Dean can see the confusion on his face before something clicks and he looks up at Dean, who lowers his gaze. 

Cas rolls them both, the condom crinkling beneath them as he presses Dean into the mattress and pins him with his own body weight. Dean gulps as he looks up at him, his eyes full of fire and fury and the fact that he's obviously angry should not be so hot but his cock twitches a little bit between them. Cas pins his hands on either side of his head and straddles him. 

"Dean Winchester. I tested clean this summer, and since then there has been nobody in my life that way but _you._ Do you really think I would do that?"

"No, I don't, not really, I just..." he sighs, pressing up against Cas's wrists until he lets them go, then sits back on Dean's thighs. Dean covers his face with his hands for a second, then gets up on his elbows. "I never thought so, I promise. It's just that I really don't want to use condoms with you. And I thought it would be irresponsible to assume we could, but I'd already had your dick in my mouth so it was probably too late. Then I realized I couldn't bring myself to ask because it would ruin everything if I couldn't handle your answer." He flops back against the pillow, unable to look at Cas's face. "I know it's stupid. It's just that, deep down, I still wonder why you'd want me, when you could have anyone."

Cas doesn't say anything, but his hands caress Dean's stomach and run slowly up his ribs, and then Cas plants his hands on either side of Dean's face, hovering over him. 

"Look at me," Cas whispers. Dean gazes up at him, and three words almost fall out of his mouth at the look on Cas's face, but he catches them just in time. He's determined to hold on to them, because Cas deserves a grander declaration than a naked confession in an efficiency apartment above an auto shop. "Dean, even if I could have anyone, there's only one person I want. That is -- and probably always will be -- _you._ "

Dean reaches up to wrap his arms around Cas and pull him down on top of him, their bodies flush against each other. He kisses Cas as he revels in the comforting weight of him, runs his hands all along his naked skin. His flagging erection reasserts itself, and he rubs its still clothed length into Cas, rolling his hips up against him. Cas breaks off from the kiss with a gasp, and Dean moves to worship his throat before he leans up to whisper in his ear.

"Want you inside me, Cas. Don't want anything else between us, since it's my first time." Cas inhales so sharply Dean thinks he might choke, and he pulls back just enough to look Dean in the eye. "What? You know I've never..." he trails off. "Christ, this must be what it feels like on prom night or something when you're preparing to hand in your V card." 

Cas starts laughing softly now, pushing himself off Dean and removing his boxer shorts, suddenly all business. "I didn't forget. I guess it just didn't hit me that I would be your first in that...area."

 _Hopefully the last, too,_ Dean thinks as he grins at Cas like a fool. 

Cas pulls the strip of condoms out from where they're half pinned beneath Dean and throws them into the corner. He takes the bottle of lube and flips open the cap, squirting some onto his fingers. As he massages them together to warm it up, he reads the label.

"Peppermint flavor? My, someone is certainly filled with Christmas spirit."

"Huh. I thought Castiel was the angel of Thursday, not of Christmas," Dean retorts, wiggling his eyebrows at Cas, who glares at him but can't keep the twinkle out of his eyes. 

"I haven't filled you _yet_ ," he grumbles lowly, and Dean's dick has definitely come off the bench and gotten completely back in the game. Cas moves off him and kneels on the other side of the bed. "Flip onto your stomach for me." 

He obliges with a grin, gripping his pillow as he nestles comfortably, enjoying the friction of the comforter against his hard cock. He enjoys even more the feeling of Cas's fingers stroking his most intimate place, and he relaxes immediately. Up until this moment he'd been worried, scared even, that he would freak out when the time came -- but Cas's presence is a balm, and just knowing it's him makes every muscle in him soften.

Cas massages one globe of his ass, pushing at it to open up his cleft and make room for his fingers to work. Dean can feel him stroking around the furled rim, working the lube around his entrance, then slipping a finger about halfway in. He sighs, because he's done this much to himself since Cas left, and is used to the intrusion. He grinds his hips into the sheets before pushing back against that gently questing digit, and Cas takes the hint and inserts it all the way. 

Dean can't help the satisfied noise that comes out of his mouth, and he turns his head to the side on the pillow so he can see Cas as he opens him up. A few minutes of that delicious finger thrusting slowly in and out, then Cas applies more lube before he works another finger into Dean, who moans outright and thrusts against them. He really enjoys the look of unbridled lust on Cas's face as he watches Dean's hole swallow his fingers, in and out, in and out, until Dean is rocking his hips steadily into the mattress and practically begging for more. 

"Cas, please, I want you," he pleads, but Cas shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says patiently, which amazes Dean given that Cas's cock is absolutely rigid and weeping pre-come. "You're going to take at least one more finger before I give you my cock." 

"Jesus Christ," Dean says, turning to bury his face completely in the pillow as Cas does just that. The third finger burns a little bit, but Cas is generous with the lube and it's not long before those three questing fingers are thrusting in and out and Dean's breath is coming in short pants. He can feel Cas pressing against his inside walls, searching, and Dean's just about to tell him to move a little to the left when he finds it on his own. Dean shouts as those fingers brush against his prostate, thrusting hard into the mattress, and now he's shamelessly begging. "Please, Cas, please, oh, please."

Cas places a hand against the small of his back, keeping Dean in place as he twists and scissors those fingers relentlessly for a few more minutes until he's satisfied. Dean moves his head again as Cas takes his fingers out, and he holds his breath as he watches Cas slick his own cock with lube. 

He leans down and places a kiss on the back of Dean's neck as he maneuvers over him. He positions himself as Dean spreads his legs wider, reaching back to spread his cheeks as Cas spears him with the head of his cock and groans.

"You feel so _good_ ," Cas says as he sinks in slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he's buried to the hilt and pauses to catch his breath and let Dean adjust. 

"Cas, you can move, I'm okay," he says almost immediately, because he really is. "Just start slow." Cas circles his hips a few times, then pulls out slowly. The sensation of Cas filling him up with that hard, hot length gets so much better when friction is added. He repositions Dean onto his hands and knees as he slides back in, grabbing Dean's hips to give himself better leverage. Each of Dean's nerve endings is aflame with sensation as Cas strokes him from within, the pace of his thrusts increasing only slightly. Dean's dick is throbbing now between his own legs but he won't touch himself. He knows when he does he's going to explode, and he doesn't want to, not yet.

Apparently Cas has different ideas, because he pulls Dean up by his shoulders, wrapping an arm around him and toying with his nipples. He nuzzles the skin behind Dean's ear as he presses his chest into Dean's back, thrusting into him harder as Dean gasps. 

"I'm so close, Dean," he grunts into his ear. "I can't last much longer with you all around me like this." He moves his other hand from Dean's hip to grab his neglected member, and Dean bites his bottom lip as he feels the sensation of impending orgasm curling into his stomach. Cas angles his hips a bit on the next thrust, and he catches Dean's prostate once, twice, three times, stroking his rigid cock in rhythm, and that's all it takes. 

"Cas! Cas!" he screams, reaching behind him to fist one hand into Cas's hair as the other grasps his still-thrusting hip as Dean's release splatters all over the bed. He clenches as he comes, and Cas bites the meat of Dean's shoulder as he follows him into orgasm. 

"Fuck," Cas moans, sitting on his heels with Dean still speared on his softening cock. Dean leans back against him, completely spent and breathing hard even though he feels like Cas did all the work. Cas wraps his arms around Dean from behind, idly playing with his nipples as he kisses the skin all along his shoulders and neck. 

Dean finally moves to collapse onto the covers in his own mess, not caring, and Cas flops down beside him. 

"You'll be happy to know that the shower in this place is big enough for both of us and the water pressure is fantastic," Dean mumbles into the pillow, and Cas laughs as he turns to kiss his shoulder and stroke the skin of his back.

After an enthusiastic shower that lasts twice as long as it should, Dean asks Cas to pick out a movie for them to watch. He's mulling over Dean's DVD collection, a little impressed that Dean owns _White Christmas_ , when he hears him clearing his throat behind him. Cas turns to see Dean shuffling in place in his plaid pajama pants and loose henley, holding a green foil box with a small red bow on it.

"I, um, I know we didn't talk about exchanging gifts or anything, but I got you a little something." He holds the package out tentatively, like he's not sure how well it will be received. Cas tosses the DVD he's chosen on the bed, then cups Dean's elbows as he leans in to give him a soft kiss.

"Thank you, Dean. It's wonderful."

"You didn't even open it yet."

"What's inside doesn't matter as much as knowing you thought about me," Cas says, taking the box and pulling off the lid.

Inside is a man's ring of hammered bronze with lettering on it, and he gasps as he pulls it out, trying to read what it says in the low light of the room.

"It says _Aere Perennius_ ," Dean tells him.

" _More lasting than bronze,_ " Cas translates, and Dean nods. 

"The lady who sold it to me thought it was kind of funny, since the ring is bronze, but, well..." he trails off, looking down at his feet, and Cas thinks it's adorable that Dean can blush so hard at twenty-two, especially after everything they've done to each other in the last two hours. 

"Dean," he says, choking up a little. He knows what Dean is trying to convey, and it overwhelms him a little as he threads the ring onto the third finger of his right hand. It fits well, and he smiles as it slides into place. "I got something for you, too. It's not as profound as this, though."

"You didn't have to." 

Cas puts a finger over his lips to shush him before he finds his bag, rummaging through it until he pulls out a small box of his own. 

"I do what I want, and I wanted you to have something that would always make you think of me." His box is plain black, but he managed to tie a festive red ribbon around it. Charlie had teased him about not buying 'green to match Dean's eyes' as he'd wound it around the box. He had to work hard not to let on that he'd planned to, but they'd been out of stock. As Dean works the ribbon off, he's struck with nerves. "It's not as meaningful as yours, really. Actually, now that I have this it seems kind of dumb. Maybe I should..." but Dean pulls the box out of his reach as he makes a grab for it.

"Uh-uh, mister, this is mine now. You have ceded it into my hands, no take-backs." The ribbon falls to the floor and he eagerly pulls off the top, and Cas cringes as he looks inside. "Is this...is this a bat?"

Now Cas is the one who feels sheepish, and he twists his hands as he nods. "I know you love Batman, and I was going to get you a ring with the logo, but they all seemed so common..." Instead, he’d had the idea to get a ring made like an actual bat. It was sterling silver, and the bat’s wings curled around in a loop to make the ring. One of Charlie's art friends had actually made it after he described what he wanted. 

Suddenly Dean has his arms wrapped around him, nuzzling affectionately into his neck, and Cas hugs him back in relief.

"This is amazing," Dean says. "It fits perfectly! It's so cool, man." They stand there for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other, and Cas wonders what it would take to convince Dean to come back to Boston with him. Maybe he'll broach the subject later, but right now this is all he wants. 

"So, can we watch this?" Cas asks as he pulls away and grabs the DVD he picked to hold up for Dean.

" _Trading Places_?"

"You said to pick a Christmas movie." 

"Cas," Dean says with a huge grin, slapping him on the shoulder as he takes the DVD and opens the case. "Don't ever change."

Later, as the movie plays and he lies in the flickering light of the TV with Dean's arms wrapped around him, his eyes are drawn again and again to the ring on his right hand. _More lasting than bronze_. That’s exactly how his feelings for Dean are, and as he leans into his lover he feels as though he’s finally where he belongs.

The week that passes is the most blissful one Dean's ever known, wrapped up in Cas and everything they are to each other, holed up together in his tiny room over the garage. They go to the movies the day after Cas arrives, and it makes Dean reminisce about the first time they'd done this, unsure of how they felt about each other or how to bridge the gap. He almost leans over in the middle to whisper something important in Cas's ear, but a movie set during 9/11 surely isn't the right backdrop for a love declaration. It makes him more determined to do it on New Year's Eve, at the fireworks, no matter how corny that seems. Dean likes the idea of symmetry, of bookending these two important moments in their lives like this, so he stays the course.

He's nervous about the event because he's been to it before, but only as an employee. He's actually working that day -- basically everyone employed by the country club has to whenever there are events like these -- but he switched his valet shift with someone else, who was thrilled to have a shot at the tips. Instead he'll be there early, helping to set up the dining room and the auction items. He'll have time to come home and get ready to meet Cas back at the event. To meet his family for the first time and hobnob with the people who usually don't acknowledge his existence. He knows that it doesn't matter what they think of him, but he can't help but hope that at least Cas's dad will like him. He’d never come back to see Cas off to school at the end of the summer, so they still haven’t met. 

Cas wraps his arms around Dean from behind as he stands at the stove, stirring the chili he's making for dinner. 

"What's on your mind?" 

"Hmm?"

"You're staring off into space, and you didn't answer when I asked what you want to watch while we eat."

"Sorry," he says, putting his free hand over Cas's at his waist. "Just thinking."

"About tomorrow night?"

"How do you always read me so well?" Dean sighs, putting the spoon aside and turning the burner off before putting the lid on the pot. He turns and puts his arms around Cas, kissing him softly. "I just don't want to embarrass you or anything." 

"Dean," Cas says with fond exasperation. "I'm embarrassed by _them_ , not you."

"I know, I know, it's just," he puts his head down on Cas's shoulder, "I don't _belong_ there, in that environment. Never have. Probably never will." He feels Cas tighten his embrace and lean his own head against Dean's.

"I don't want you to to belong with them. Just with me. And you already do."

"Yeah?" Dean mumbles into his shoulder. "How's that?"

Cas is quiet for a moment, and Dean worries that he's thinking of the myriad ways they don't actually fit together, of the obstacles Cas will have to face to have Dean in his life, of what his parents will actually say when...

"Because I love you," Cas says softly. Dean draws back in surprise, but Cas doesn't loosen the arms around his waist, and he raises his eyes to meet Dean's with firm resolve. "I love you, and that means you belong with me." Dean is stunned at the quiet forcefulness of the admission, and he opens his mouth to return the sentiment but Cas puts a gentle hand over it. "Don't say it back because you think you have to. If you want to, you'll find your own way to tell me." He moves his hand and cups Dean's face, running his thumb softly along the cheekbone, eyes trailing his own movements before they meet Dean's again. 

Dean feels breathless and fearful and elated all at the same time, and he pulls Cas in to kiss him forcefully. He maneuvers them over to the edge of the bed, tumbling onto it and pulling Cas along after him. Dinner is completely forgotten as they divest themselves of clothing, pressing their bare skin together like a solemn promise. Despite the force of their passion, Dean is gentle as he opens Cas up slowly, reverently. He turns Cas onto his back before he sinks into him, trying to telegraph how he feels with every stroke, with every brush of his lips. Dean blankets Cas with his body and his own love, working his arms underneath to grab him by the shoulders as he moves sinuously against him. He works into Cas at a steady pace, unhurried, watching him build and build and build to the precipice until they're both saturated with the effort and Cas is clutching at his back as he whimpers incoherently. 

The friction of their bodies together finally brings Cas to orgasm, and Dean watches -- enraptured, never slowing his pace -- as Cas collapses beneath him in raw ecstasy with Dean's name on his lips. That's all it takes for Dean to tumble after him, hiding his face in Cas's shoulder as he falls apart. 

Dean rolls onto his back and pulls Cas into his arms as they catch their breath, and he smiles as he nuzzles into that dark hair, thinking about tomorrow night's fireworks.

For the first time ever, Cas is impatient to get to the charity auction at the country club, and is ready to go twenty minutes before his parents expect to leave. He paces the front hallway in his black dress pants and white tuxedo jacket, trying not to yank on his bow tie in frustration.

"Castiel," says a voice from the top of the stairs, and he looks up to see his mother, leaning over the banister in her silvery silk robe with a cocktail glass in her hand. "Stop your pacing. The echo of your footsteps is giving me a headache."

"Yes, mother," he says, putting his head down and his hands in his pockets. He texts Dean impatiently, but he doesn't respond, and Cas figures he's frantically trying to get ready after getting home. 

They're finally leaving the house thirty minutes later, and Cas does his best not to fidget as he sends Dean another text that they're on their way. He still doesn't answer, but Cas will see him soon enough, so he doesn't pull out his phone again on the ride over.

Chuck gives his keys to the valet once they arrive, and Cas wonders idly if he's ever given them to Dean before when he was working, if Chuck will recognize Dean when he meets him tonight. They follow all the other well-dressed people into the room where the event is being held, and he scans the room for Dean as they head to their table. Cas had told Chuck months ago that he'd have a plus one for this event, and had given him Dean's name at Thanksgiving to put down as their guest, but even so he feels a little thrill go through him at the sight of _Dean Winchester_ in script on the place card next to his at their table. 

He continues to stand for a few minutes after his parents are seated, searching for Dean, until his dad tells him to sit down. He takes out his phone and sends another text. 

_Cas: are you running late? We're at a table on the left, close to the front._

The welcome speech begins and the lights go down slightly, enough that Cas is worried Dean won't be able to find them when he arrives. He puts his phone face up on the table, so that he won't miss a text from Dean. 

Except that the screen never illuminates, and the phone is still completely dark half an hour later. The auction has begun, and Chuck is actively bidding on a piece by a local artist while Rebecca Shurley only seems interested in her glass never being empty. Neither has so much as asked where Cas's companion is, and he's disgusted enough with them both that he doesn't say anything as he grabs the valet ticket from the table and leaves. 

He's grateful to have some money on him for a change, and he hands ten bucks to the guy who finally manages to bring Chuck's car around. He hasn't even bothered to get his coat, and he's shivering as he drives to the garage despite having the heat on full blast. 

The entire building is dark, but he's undeterred. Dean had shown him where Bobby kept a spare set of keys when they'd accidentally locked themselves out one day during the week. He manages to find them again hidden in a pile of old tires behind the shop, not caring when he gets streaks of grime all over his pristine jacket. He lets himself into the back door of the shop and hurries up the stairs, bypassing Bobby's dark office and the break room to knock frantically on the last door.

"Dean?" he calls out, getting no answer. "Dean, are you okay?" He hopes Dean fell asleep after work and forgot to set an alarm, or that at worst he let nerves overtake him and is cowering in the apartment. He tries the knob frantically, and is surprised when the door swings open. 

He steps into the space and flicks on the light. The first thing he notices is the bed, stripped bare. If not for that, he may not have panicked, because otherwise the room looks the same. Dean didn't have much along the lines of memorabilia or knick knacks, and there'd only been two things in the room that showed Dean's personality. 

The shelf of DVDs, which had about 25 movies on it, is bare, but that's not what he finds most chilling. Dean had a framed photo on his nightstand of Sam on the day of his graduation. You can't even make out any of his features in it because he's so far away, but Dean was so proud of that moment when Sam accepted his diploma. In the corner of it was tucked another picture, small and faded and worn at the edges, of a lovely young Mary Winchester with her arms around Dean as a toddler.

The photo frame is missing. 

Cas doesn't need to look any further to know that Dean gone.

He sits heavily on the bed, pulling out his phone.

_Cas: I came looking for you and your place is empty._

_Cas: Where are you, Dean?_

He lays back on the bare mattress, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He's not sure how much time passes, but eventually his phone buzzes with a reply.

_Dean: Don't seek me out anymore, Cas._

Cas is beside himself with confusion and sorrow for days after he gets that lone text from Dean.

_Don't seek me out anymore, Cas._

He's gone over and over all their interactions and can't pinpoint anything he did wrong, can't seem to find the faultline in the time they spent together. He knows he's not crazy, because he's told Charlie everything and she can't figure it out, either. 

Well, almost everything. He kept his love confession to himself, his declaration too private to share with anyone else. There's a part of him that wonders if that's what he did wrong, if maybe Dean got spooked and decided to distance himself -- but then he thinks of the unbridled joy on Dean's face when he'd said it, the way he'd kissed him breathless and then held him close like he never wanted to let go. 

He thinks of that, then reminds himself that Dean didn't say it in return because Cas didn’t let him. Would he have, though, eventually? Or was he just going to respond in kind because it was expected? 

That question should keep him up at night but instead he's been sleeping constantly, clutching his phone in his hand, and then wandering into the kitchen to eat when he gets hungry. There aren’t regular meals in the house anymore, all pretense between his parents about being a family in private gone. It seems strange to him that their impending separation and probable divorce makes him feel nothing, but the loss of the man he's grown to love since the summer makes his head throb and his stomach flip.

_Don't seek me out anymore, Cas._

He angered Dean when he confessed that he went to the apartment looking for him. That must be it. Maybe...maybe if he gives Dean a few days of space he'll reach out, tell Cas where he is, explain what's happened, why he got scared.

Four days. It's been four days since Dean sent him that text. He hopes it doesn't take much longer for Dean to forgive him whatever transgression he committed.

Cas rolls out of bed and drags himself into the bathroom. He can't remember the last time he showered, and his chin is definitely showing how long it's been since he's shaved, but he can't bring himself to rectify that right now. He steps into the spray and mechanically washes his hair and body, unable to let his thoughts linger on the memory of Dean in it. It's too painful. 

Once dressed, he drags himself downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach becoming aware of its growing proximity to food and demanding satisfaction. He's eaten half a bag of baby carrots when the doorbell chimes, and he shuffles half-heartedly towards it until it occurs to him that it might be Dean, come back to make amends.

He throws open the door without even looking through the peephole, and the person on the other side takes a step back in surprise. 

"Are you alright?" the woman on the porch says, and the concern in her voice is so genuine that it hurts Castiel to hear it. 

"Yes," he says, trying to collect himself. "My apologies. I thought you were someone else."

"Oh, that's okay," she says with a smile. "I was just startled. I'm Ellen Harvelle, I did the piece Mr. Shurley won on at the charity auction? He asked me to deliver it today and pick up the check."

"I see," he says. "I'm his son, Castiel. Please come in, he's probably in his office." He closes the front door behind her and leads her down the hall, grateful that he's at least showered and has no cause for embarrassment right now. Chuck's office door is uncharacteristically ajar, but Cas knocks anyway out of habit before he pushes it open to find the room empty. 

"Oh, I suppose I could come back?" Ellen says tentatively, but Cas smiles at her. 

"No, I'm sure he's already written it. It's probably here somewhere, I'll get it and then help you bring the piece in. Just have a seat," he gestures to one of the chairs as he goes behind the huge desk where his dad spends most of his time when he's home. It's an organized clutter that Cas is more than used to, because until this summer he used to spend a lot of time in here, talking to his dad in better days. He's used to the mess well enough that he manages to find the checkbook hiding under an unopened stack of mail on the left side of the desk. 

He pulls it out and opens the large ledger, the business sized checks three to a page. It's a new book for the new year, apparently, and only one has been torn out. The second one is made out to _Ellen Harvelle_ and he sighs in relief. 

"Found it," he announces to Ellen, and she smiles before he turns his attention to carefully ripping it out of the checkbook, casually glancing at the stub for the check that's missing as he does.

His mouth goes dry as he reads what's there.

_No: 9601_

_Date: 1/1/2012_

_To: Dean Winchester_

_Amt: $300,000_

_Memo: Stanford Tuition_

He stares at the pay stub, and every cell in his body goes completely numb.

_Don't seek me out anymore, Cas._


	7. Chapter 7

_June, 2017_

Dean manages to get three blocks before he has to pull over because his hands are shaking too much for him to drive. He can't believe that he's just run into Cas at random, here in California, after all this time. He leans his head against the steering wheel with his arms crossed over his stomach, wondering if he's going to be sick.

_He knows about the money._

He takes measured breaths in through his nose, exhaling through his teeth, counting five beats for each one. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It's been a long time since he's had to do this breathing exercise; Sam had taught him how in that first year he came out to California, when he was a total wreck. 

_Cas_. God, he looked so good. His features seemed more defined than Dean remembers: his jawline so sharp you could probably shave ice on it, his eyes still so blue that Dean found it difficult to look into them. From the minute Cas had turned, recognition all over his features, Dean had been taut as a bowstring. Five years, more than that now, and Dean still felt fire flare under his skin at the sight of him. 

He can pretend all he wants in his day to day life, can act aloof and unaffected and immune to matters of the heart, but he's always known deep down that he belongs to someone. He knows now that he always will, despite the fact that Cas obviously hates him and has good reason to. 

He’s beaten himself up a lot over the years at what Cas must have gone through after Dean left, what explanation he must have come up with for it. Honestly, he'd always expected Cas to come looking for him despite everything -- but he never had, and now Dean knows why. 

_It's for the best. You can’t be with him anyway, unless you want him to lose everything._

He sighs as he picks his head up from the steering wheel and rubs his eyes. Cain had given him a meaningful look before he left, handed him the invoice, and calmly said "I'll leave this part to you." Dean knows Cain will expect an explanation even if he won't demand it. What is he supposed to say?

_That was the love of my life but I left him five years ago for his own good and never even said goodbye._

He can't imagine what Cas must think when he looks at him, the disdain he must feel to see Dean after all this time, how much hatred must be festering in him. 

_He knows about the money, but he doesn’t know why you really left._

Dean clutches at the leather cord around his own neck, pulling it out of his t-shirt. He had to stop wearing it because of work but he didn't want to be without it. He'd strung it on a thin piece of leather the way he'd done for Sammy's house keys when he was just a kid. He examines the ring now, the bat with its wings curved around to meet each other at their tips, stroking it with his fingers. 

Not for the first time, Dean thinks of that fateful day, of the way Chuck had pressed the check into his hand. He swallows as he leans his head against the headrest, closing his eyes and reminding himself that Cas is better off. 

Dean tucks his bat ring back into his shirt and starts the truck, wiping at the moisture that leaks from the corner of one eye. He knows he can't ever come back here. 

But oh, it aches to have seen him again. He wants to fall at Cas’s feet and confess everything, beg for forgiveness, for another chance -- but it is one thing to damn himself, and quite another to damn the man he loves. 

Instead, Dean puts the truck in gear and drives away from Cas all over again, and it's just as painful as the first time.

Cas is lying on his bed with his eyes closed, trying to process all that's happened in this past week.

Dean, in the flesh, standing feet from him. Cas itching to reach out and touch, his heart hammering in his chest despite the feeling of betrayal in his brain. He hates that he still wants Dean so much after all this time, after the way he left, after he chose Chuck's money over Cas's love. Most of all, he hates the cruel string of coincidences that have brought Dean back into his life.

Charlie has been so rational about explaining each one, showing Cas that a conspiracy by the universe to bring him heartache is unlikely. Sam interns at the law firm, it’s likely he encouraged people there to use his brother’s business, and that’s why Hannah recommended them to Charlie. It all makes sense and Castiel agrees with her, but there's no rationality that can take away the pain he's feeling right now.

He’d managed to get up the stairs to his room and rummage through the boxes until he found his favorite blanket, wrapping it around him like a cocoon. He thinks about Dean, still working outdoors, his skin kissed by the sun and bringing out all his freckles. It reminds him so much of when they first met, all those summer weekends under the trees at the edge of the country club, falling in love half an hour at a time as they sat in the shade.

Except _they_ hadn't fallen in love apparently, just him, and he still wears the evidence on his finger. 

Dean hands were both bare of jewelry, and that fact wasn't lost on Cas.

He hears his phone go off with a text alert, but he only pulls it out of his pocket to turn off the sound and place it on the nightstand. He catches himself rubbing at the ring again with this thumb, and he almost pulls it off to throw it across the room, but then changes his mind. He pulls the bedding tightly around him, and decides he'll give himself this one night to wallow and feel sorry for himself, thinking of all the ways his life could have turned out differently. 

He finds it oddly prophetic that a certain holiday is coming up in a few days, and he resolves to have all of this put behind him by that day. By then, he's going to make some changes. By then, he's going to finally move on. But tonight, he's going to sift through all these memories and let them wash through him for the last time.

Cas has long wished that he could bottle the memory of that July night -- some six years ago now -- and wear it around his neck like a keepsake, hold it up to the light so he can watch the events unfold over and over again: Dean eventually moving away to get a blanket out of the trunk of his car, unfurling it on the grass and then pulling Cas down into his lap to keep kissing him, the air around them taking on the distant scent of smoke and sulfur as a myriad of colored fire rained down in the background.

He remembers the fireworks he felt inside more than the display that happened above them, because he never looked at it. He was fully captivated by Dean splayed out beneath him, lips warm and inviting, the hollow of his throat pooling sweat as Cas pulled his shirt over his head. He'd wanted to lay hands on him for weeks, and that night he'd traced his fingers along Dean's ribs before following them with his lips, listening to the hitch of his throat as he whispered Cas's name like a benediction. 

He plays the memories of that fateful summer over and over again in his mind, hating the way his brain supplants the Dean in his memory with the older version that's now fresh in his mind. He picks over that joyful week after Christmas, touches given and words spoken, all of them fresh and raw and painful now in a way they weren't at the time. He loses himself to memory until he finally falls into a restless sleep.

As always, Sam isn't home when Dean gets there, but he's never been more grateful for that. He'd sent Cain a text saying he'd explain tomorrow, and then turned off his phone, and now he strips down to his boxers and crawls into his bed. He's still dirty from work but he doesn't care. He just wants to hide from the world.

Cas has never felt more out of his reach, despite the fact that he was close enough to touch just an hour ago. He’s fantasized a lot over the years about how he could get Cas back in his life; but the one scenario he'd never accounted for, the one possibility he'd never entertained, was that Cas would have moved on without him. 

_Why_ _wouldn't he?_ Dean's traitorous brain throws back at him. _From his perspective, you chose money instead of him._

He stays under the covers for the rest of the day, the light in his room turning to darkness. He doesn't sleep, but he doesn't move either, stuck in some catatonic state with only his thoughts for company. He has no idea what time it is when he finally hears the clatter that tells him Sam is home. 

"Dean?" he hears him call out, voice questioning as he moves through the rooms of this tiny bungalow that Dean bought when it was falling apart and fixed up himself. He'd still been hopeful then, dreaming stupid dreams of someday showing Cas the place he'd renovated with his own hands. He realizes now, hearing Sam's sure step coming down the hall after checking the kitchen, that he never closed his bedroom door. "Dean?" Sam says again, and he takes a deep breath.

"I'm in here, Sam," he acknowledges, still not moving. 

"Are you sick?" his brother says, voice laced with concern as he comes in and sits on the bed. "Can I get you something? There's some Gatorade in the fridge, or I can go out and pick something up?"

"Not sick," he says. "Just had an unexpected encounter today and I think it shook me up a bit."

"A bit," Sam repeats. "Dean, it's 8:30. What time did you go to bed?" 

"Hours ago," he admits shamefully. 

"Are you going to tell me about it, or deflect like you always do?" There's sarcasm in his voice, but also a pained note that tugs at Dean, and he rolls onto his back to cover his face with his hands. He _does_ deflect, all the time, ashamed of his own actions and the role he played in hurting the man he loved. None of that can diminish it though, and maybe this is a sign to give Sam a full accounting of his sins. It's the only way he can explain how much what happened today is affecting him. 

"If you want to change, and give me time to clean up, I'll tell you all about it."

"Yeah?" Sam says, his face brightening, and Dean feels another pang of guilt over how a little trust is all it takes to make his brother happy. "I'll meet you in the living room in a bit." He propels himself out of the room, and Dean might be annoyed at his obvious excitement if he didn't know it was because he wants so much to help. He drags himself out of the bed, stripping the sheets he's been stewing in for hours before he goes into the bathroom to shower.

Thirty minutes later, having remade his bed and changed into his favorite pair of sweatpants, he heads into the living room just as Sam comes in the front door with a pizza and a six pack.

"I figured you hadn't eaten anything," he says, "so I got the meat lover's for you, and I know you don't normally like to drink but this seems like one of those conversations you're going to need a beer for."

Dean follows him into the kitchen, sitting down heavily at their small table. "Thanks, Sam," he croaks out. 

"Of course, Dean. You know that I'm old enough now to take care of you sometimes, right?"

Dean nods his head, accepting the beer Sam hands across the table after he's twisted off the cap, and taking a slice of pizza from the box.

"I saw Cas today," he starts.

**__** _December 31st, 2011_

Dean drops Cas off at the end of his driveway early on the morning of the auction, pulling him back for a passionate kiss before letting him get out of the car. He watches him walk up to the house until he can no longer see him, and then he heads over to work, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

He's glad there's a lot to do, but even so the day seems to drag by. He's imagined a hundred different scenarios for tonight, for how he wants to tell Cas how he feels, but he knows that when the moment finally arrives it will probably happen differently than anything he's imagined. 

Dean finishes with the last place setting on the final table and stands back to check his work when he feels a tap on his shoulder. 

"Winchester," says Lilith, the event coordinator. "You're wanted in the Blue Room."

"Okay," he says, but a little confused by the direction. He knows that's a smaller meeting room, and he didn't know it was being used for anything, but maybe there's a different activity being set up in there that needs help. 

He enters the Blue Room, so named for the hue of the carpet, but all the tables and chairs are still stacked in the corner, and there's only a single person standing in it.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Are you Dean Winchester?" the man asks, and Dean gets a sinking feeling in his gut, wondering what terrible news this man has to tell him. He hasn't heard anything from John for months, and it would be just like him to be laid up in a hospital, expecting Dean to drop everything and come take care of him. 

"I am," he responds even as he steels himself for whatever news of John is sure to come. Perhaps that's why what the man says next hits Dean like a blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of him with how unexpected it is.

"I want you to stay away from my son."

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"My son, Castiel," the man says, crossing his arms like he's trying to convey a forceful presence, but it just doesn't work. He’s at least half a foot shorter than Dean and not as broad. This man looks the opposite of intimidating. "I want you out of his life." 

Dean's brain scrambles frantically to catch up, and he immediately gets defensive.

"Well, I guess I can stop worrying about whether or not you'll like me," he responds. "As for staying away from Cas, that's not up to you. He's a grown man, completely capable of making a choice on his own -- and I'm it."

"Yes, I'm aware," Chuck Shurley says defeatedly, and Dean smiles a little in triumph. "I'm not surprised, actually. Cas has always had an affinity for helpless underdog types." Dean knows that well enough -- he and Cas have talked a thousand times about the organization he wants to put together after he has access to his trust fund -- so he doesn't say anything. "He also has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and will likely not listen to reason about his future. So I thought I'd appeal directly to you."

"Appeal to me for _what_?" Dean asks, and Chuck sighs.

"You're not right for him, Dean. I know you know that." He drops his arms and puts his hands in his pants pockets instead, rocking onto the balls of his feet before settling back on his heels. "I've done a background check on you, Dean. I know why Castiel appeals to you so much."

"Is that so?"

"Look, I know you're not a bad person. But I also know that you've lived a desperate life, and most people would do anything to get out of it. Trust me, I know." 

"You don't know anything." 

"I know that Castiel gains access to a trust fund on his twenty-second birthday that would allow him to live the rest of his life comfortably without ever lifting a finger. That must be very appealing for someone who's done nothing all his life but work to take care of his little brother and his wastrel of a father."

"You think I'm with Cas for the _trust fund_?" Dean practically shouts, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. "What kind of father are you?"

"A good one," Chuck responds haughtily, and Dean knows he actually believes it. "One who won't let his son hang his future on the first pretty boy to flutter his lashes at him."

"Cas actually _knows_ me, unlike you, and he knows that's not what this is about. So, luckily for me, your opinion here doesn't matter."

"It does, actually," Chuck says vehemently. "You see, whether or not he actually inherits said trust fund is completely in my hands. So if I thought some money-grubbing opportunist were latching on to him solely for that reason, for example, I could make sure he never got access to it."

"You wouldn't do that," Dean says through gritted teeth. "Not to your own _son_."

"Ah," Chuck says, sadly. "That's the rub, you see. He's _not_ actually my son." 

A cold thread works its way down Dean's spine. 

"The DNA test." 

"Yes, I'm not surprised he told you about that," Chuck says, walking over to the wall and leaning on it for support. "I _am_ surprised he never asked me for the results, actually. I had determined never to tell him, because despite what it says I _am_ a father to him in every way. I didn't want to take that away from him." He pushes off the wall and turns back to Dean. "But if he decides to pursue this course, decides he wants to have you in his life and give you access to all of that, I will absolutely do so."

Dean thinks of all the plans Cas has made, how excited he is to have access to the funds to do what he wants with his own life, to use it to help those less fortunate. He thinks of how crushing it would be for him to lose all of that. He wonders how long it would take Cas to start feeling more resentment for Dean instead of love, as the years went by and he felt more and more the strain of what it cost to choose him.

"He loves me," Dean whispers helplessly, "and I love him. What you're asking me will destroy him."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself, don't you? Castiel has riches at his disposal, has a powerful name, has family and friends who love him. He can find solace from you there, and he'll get over it and move on, eventually. But if he loses all of that to only get you in return? Do you think just having you is enough to make up for all of _that_?"

Dean thinks suddenly of the night he lost his mother: of how little he felt as he stood on the grass with his baby brother in his arms, watching his entire childhood burn down in front of him, even if he didn't know it at the time. Even in that moment, he didn't feel as small as he does now. He doesn't think he can live with himself if he's responsible for this happening to Cas, for having his whole life taken away from him because of Dean.

"There's nothing I can tell him that he'll believe," Dean says helplessly.

"Yes, well, I've considered that," Chuck says, coming closer. "I know you've led a bad life, Dean, but I also know you're not a bad person. I know you don't like the idea of hurting him to his face. So I think it would be best if you just went away. I can give you the means to do that." He pulls an envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and holds it out for Dean, who just stares at it. "You can go wherever you want and build a brand new life with this. With this, you can put that brother of yours through college without worry."

"Sam has a scholarship," Dean says helplessly, staring at the envelope. 

"There's no guarantee he'll get one for law school, though, is there?" Chuck shakes the envelope a little. "My research was very thorough."

There's a war inside Dean, a war between what he wants for himself, and what he wants for Sam -- and for Cas. 

Cas deserves better.

With a trembling hand, Dean takes the envelope and clutches it in his fist.

"I have a driver waiting outside that will take you wherever you want to go," Chuck says quietly. "If you're out of the state before Cas expects to meet you tonight, he'll never know what I've told you here. He'll live his life exactly as he was meant to." He claps him on the shoulder, and Dean hangs his head in shame. "You're doing the right thing, here. For everyone." 

"He won't let me go easily."

"Then the sooner you leave the better." 

"You're a monster," Dean whispers, raising his head. Chuck gives him a look that doesn't exactly disagree before he walks past him and out the door, leaving Dean there alone.

_June, 2017_

Sam sits quietly, rolling his empty beer bottle between his hands. Dean is on his third, his drink replenished by Sam every time his throat goes dry. He drains the last of it and puts the empty bottle on the table next to the others, silent glass soldiers all in a row. 

"You told me you left because it got serious," Sam says sadly. "That you couldn't see a future for the two of you, so you broke it off and left." He places his own empty bottle next to the rest, lining it up carefully before letting his hands drop between his knees. "Why did you let me think that about you, Dean, when it's clear that you loved him so much?"

"I don't know, Sam. Deep down, I thought maybe Chuck was right, that he was better off without me. I knew what you’d say to that, and I thought maybe you’d try and reach out to him, tell him what really happened anyway. He’d lose his trust fund and all the plans for it, but he’d also lose his dad, and I just couldn’t do that to him."

“He should have had the chance to make that choice for himself.”

“I know, but if he chose me, and then came to regret it…” Dean trails off, putting his head in his hands.

"There's never been anyone else for you but him, has there?" 

"No," Dean admits, leaning his forehead onto his clasped hands, elbows on the table like a penitent at prayer. "It doesn't seem like that was the case for him, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't recognize the name on the ledger before I went out to meet Cain at the site. Didn't think anything of it, and didn't realize it was Cas until he turned to greet me. Cain introduced him with a different last name. I think...I think he’s married, Sam."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," Dean admits. "I’ve really lost him."

"Dean, I hate to ask this part, but...what did you do with the money Chuck gave you? You certainly haven't been living high on the hog the past few years." 

Dean laughs bitterly, shaking his head. 

"I never even opened the envelope Chuck gave me to see how much it was. It's hidden in the DVD case for _Trading Places._ "

"That seems...apropos."

"It wasn't intentional."

"So Chuck threatened to reveal that he wasn't Cas's father, which meant Cas would lose everything -- but instead you’ve lost everything, and you don’t even have the money that caused all this.”

"I'm sorry, Sam, I know it would have helped a lot but..."

"But it felt like blood money."

"Yeah. Yeah, it did." 

Sam rubs his face with his hands before crossing his arms before him on the table, looking into the distance. 

"I wonder what Chuck thinks about the fact that you never cashed his check."

"Hell, he probably doesn't even know," Dean says, getting up to retrieve that last two beers from the fridge, twisting off the caps and handing one to Sam before sitting back down. "There's probably an accountant somewhere that does all the math. He got what he wanted, and I'm sure that's all that mattered to him." 

"This sucks," Sam says. "It feels like the only person who has a real say in this whole situation is the one who doesn't know anything about it."

"And he _can't_ ," Dean says desperately. "Cas cared so much about his dad, it’s one of the things we always talked about that summer. Whether he was right about me or not, Chuck did what he did because he wanted the best for him, even though he’s not his biological son. That's a hell of a lot more than John ever did for either one of us, and we’re his blood."

"What did you tell Cain about all this?" 

"I haven't yet. He knows something's up, and he expects me to tell him, judging by the look he gave me before he left. I don’t think we’re keeping the Novak contract, that’s for sure."

"Novak?" Sam asks sharply.

"Yeah, that's Cas's new last name." Sam gives him an odd look and opens his mouth, but then closes it again. "What?"

"Nothing, I just forgot you'd said that before. Sorry. It's a lot to take in." 

"Tell me about it," Dean says. 

Morning comes, and Cas crawls out of bed to take a hot shower. He stares at his drawn face in the mirror, trying to convince himself that he's going to turn over a new leaf, but after he towel dries his hair he stares at the bronze ring he'd left on the sink. He makes himself shave and get dressed, determined to leave it where it is, but he can't even get out the bathroom door before putting it back on with a sigh.

Charlie tries in vain to cheer him up, but he can’t muster the energy for cheerful interaction, so eventually she stops trying to get him to engage as they spend the day unpacking various boxes and putting their personal things into the house. She knocks on his door in the evening, but he’s already crawled back into bed, and eventually she goes away without saying anything.

Friday comes, and they need to go to the lawyer's office to sign paperwork. Cas is not looking forward to leaving the house, much less getting into close proximity with anyone named Winchester.

Naturally, as the elevator doors open, the person waiting to greet them is none other than Sam, and Cas tries not to visibly wince. He clenches the handle of his briefcase instead as they follow him to the conference room, thinking that all he needs to do is get through this next hour. 

Sam doesn’t seem to be acting any differently than he did during Cas's previous visit; he's open and relaxed as he jokes around with Charlie, and is exceedingly polite to Cas. It’s needling at him a little bit. What does Sam know? Does he know anything?

Before he can think better of it, he opens his mouth.

"I met another Winchester this week," he says, as though it's just occurred to him. Charlie’s eyes open wide, and she surreptitiously shakes her head when Sam isn’t looking but he ignores her. "One of the landscaping services Hannah recommended. I suppose given where we are that's a pretty common name?" He's glad Charlie is out of reach, because he can almost feel her mentally jabbing her elbow into his ribs.

Sam laughs a little bit as he holds open the conference room door and gestures to a seat before a stack of papers. "If you're talking about the Winchester Mystery House, I can assure you there's no relation there. My brother works for Hive Landscaping, so I imagine that's who you met yesterday." His voice is professional, aloof, and gives Cas nothing to go on. Sam takes a seat at the conference table and starts rifling through his papers, and Charlie pinches the back of Cas’s arm, hard, before she goes to take a seat next to him. 

"I'll have to thank Hannah for recommending them,” she says, trying to recover. 

“Yes, that was kind of her,” Sam says. “They do really good work, but of course I’m biased.”

Cas can't think of what to say next, so he just sits on the other side of Charlie as Sam walks them through the documentation. They've filled out an enormous amount of paperwork in the last few weeks, so when they're finally finished thirty minutes later he clenches and unclenches his hand several times, trying to get the blood flowing again.

"I know how you feel," Sam says. "Having to spell out 'Winchester' on everything is taxing. You're lucky your last name is so short."

"I'm glad I chose something easy when I changed it, then," Cas grumbles, massaging his fingers with the other hand as he stands up.

"Chose it? Isn't that your married name?" Sam asks harshly, and Cas almost takes a step back in surprise. 

"Married?" He says in surprise, but then remembers the ring he still wears on the third finger of his right hand. "Oh, this is just...No. Not married. Novak is my grandmother's maiden name, I changed it after...after my father and I had a falling out. Why?" Sam doesn't answer, just stares at him with a furrowed brow and a glaring intensity that has Cas concerned. 

“Ms. Bradbury?” Sam says, infinitely polite, his face smoothing into a smile as he turns to her. “Would you give Mr. Novak and myself a few minutes in private?” 

Charlie looks at Cas, who sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment before putting his hands in his pockets and giving her a nod. 

“I guess I’ll go use the restroom,” she says uncomfortably, and as she passes Cas she whispers in his ear. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air in the conference room hangs heavy in her absence. Sam sits at the table, staring at his own hands pressed flat against its marble surface, and Cas finally decides to just get it over with.

"You know about me, don’t you?" he whispers, dreading the answer.

"Yeah," Sam breathes, turning to face him. "Yeah, I know about you, Cas." There's something on Sam's face, in his tone, some kind of judgement that makes Cas's hackles rise and puts him on the defensive. 

"I guess you should thank me then, since my heartbreak is paying for your college education," he spews, spitting venom as he voices the thought that's been rattling around in his brain for years.

"Oh, is that so?" Sam responds with a surprise so genuine it can't possibly be faked. They stare at one another for a beat, and then Cas looks away in shame.

"I'm sorry, Sam. That was unkind of me. Some things are still painful, but that's not your fault." He rubs a hand across his face, realizing that he's not in the best place to discuss this. "Perhaps it’s best if I just go." He turns towards the door, hoping to get out as quickly as possible, but a tentative hand on his arm makes him halt. Had it been forceful he would have pulled away and kept going, but the hesitance in it stops him cold.

"I really think we should talk," Sam says quietly. Cas's shoulders slump, his escape defeated, and he just nods. Cas sinks back down in a chair, pushed back from the table, elbows on knees with his hands dangling between them. 

"I understood, you know. Why he left. It hurt me, but I understood." 

"And what is it you think you understand, exactly?”

Cas swallows and nods, not sure why he feels so ashamed of himself. After all, he didn't do anything wrong. He twists the ring on his finger idly as he speaks.

"At first, I didn't know what happened to him. He was supposed to meet me at the auction on New Year's Eve, but he didn't show. I panicked, went to his place looking for him, but he was gone. I just didn't know _why_." He can see Sam clenching his jaw out of the corner of his eye. "He finally sent me a single text in response to all of mine. It told me to stop looking for him." He bangs his head against the back of the chair. 

"Why did you?" Sam prompts, and Cas exhales loudly through his nose, staring up at the ceiling.

"I didn't want to, but at first I thought maybe he needed space, so I just hung around waiting for him to change his mind. I kept thinking maybe I scared him off when I..." but he can't say that to Sam. "Someone came to the house to pick up a check from my dad, and I went into his office to see if I could find it. That's when I saw it."

"Saw what?"

"A stub for a payment with Dean's name on it. A check for three hundred thousand dollars. With a notation that said it was for Stanford Tuition." Sam tenses up but doesn't speak, so Cas continues. "I confronted my dad about it. He told me he'd offered Dean a choice: me, or your future.” He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes as he remembers. "He chose you, Sam. Of course he did. You're his brother. I would have made the same choice." 

His throat closes up over those words because it still hurts, even years later. He understands it, can even forgive it, but he'll never forget the way it felt to know that the man he loved didn't love him back, had chosen an easy payout so he wouldn't have to pretend more affection than he felt any longer. "I hated my dad for that, for putting Dean in such a position. I went back to Boston the same day, and I never went home again. Haven't spoken to my dad since. I changed my name right after graduation." 

"You thought...all this time, you thought that Dean took the money and ran because of _me_?"

"Sam. I know how hard your brother had to work all the time, how much he worried about your expenses for school, worried about your dad, worried about _everyone_ except himself. I know what my father gave him must have been a huge relief, to know that he could take care of you and put you through school without having to hold down three jobs and pretend he was in love with a socially awkward society brat anymore."

" _What?_ " Sam blurts, sitting up rapidly, turning to face Cas, face twisted in disbelief. "You think Dean was lying to you? For what purpose? Playing the long con, get you to fall for him so he'd have access to your money? If that's what you think he was doing, you don't know my brother _at all_." 

"Nothing else makes sense, Sam! Why take so little, when he could have had access to so much more if he'd stayed with me?" Cas gets to his feet, running his hands through his hair as he paces between the window and the door. "He knew I would come into my trust fund in a year, he knew what all my plans were. He knew, he _knew_ that I, that I..." but he still can't bring himself to say it, the vulnerability of having confessed his love still like a raw wound even after all this time. "If he'd felt the same, even a little, he would have stayed. He knew I would have given him _everything_ if he asked."

He stops his agitated stalking across the carpet, facing out the window, arms crossed over his chest as he tries to hold himself together. 

"I got a full ride to Stanford."

"I know," Cas says dully. "Dean was so proud, but he knew you'd still need money, and he knew you wanted to go to law school after. He was always doing math in his head, trying to figure out how to set aside what he thought you'd need and still feed himself and your dad. He did good by you, Sam, I know that." 

"I have loans now to finish out my law degree, and Dean keeps right on working himself to the bone. Why would he do that if he was sitting on that much money, Cas?"

"I don't...what are you saying?" Sam looks at him now, his piercing gaze full of resignation and pity. 

"Dean didn't choose me. He chose _you_." Sam gets up from the couch, his entire body tense like a tightly wound spring, and he pulls something from his pocket that he reaches over and tucks into Cas's front shirt pocket. "Maybe you should finally ask your dad what he really he said to my brother that night, but for now, I really think you need to leave this office." He pulls the door open and holds it there, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. "I can't decide right now if I want to hug you or punch you in the face, but neither one is really going to be accepted by management, no matter which one you actually deserve."

Cas places a hand over his pocket, but then nods to Sam and walks out, heading to the elevator at a brisk pace.

“Cas!” Charlie cries out, catching up to him. “Cas, what happened?” He pulls out the paper Sam placed there, a business sized envelope, unopened and folded in half. “What’s that?” 

The bell dings as the elevator doors open, and he steps into the empty car without thinking, staring at the envelope in his hand as Charlie gets on after him. The envelope looks worn and a little dirty, and he unfolds it curiously and looks at the writing on the front, in a hand he knows as well as his own. 

_Dean_ _Winchester_ is written on it in Chuck’s cramped scrawl. He hands it to Charlie silently, and she gasps as she looks at it. 

“Is this…?”

“Call Naomi for me, would you?” he asks her in a strained voice edging towards tears. “Find out where my father is.”

“Are you sure about this, Cas?”

He continues folding a shirt into his carry on even as he looks at Charlie sitting cross-legged on his bed. 

“You’ve been telling me for ages that I need to get past this and move on. This is the only way I can think of to do that.”

“Maybe you don’t have to?” she asks, a strangely hopeful note creeping into her voice. “Chuck might say something to absolve him completely. He never cashed the check, maybe he really does love you.”

“He probably did. Once.”

“Cas…”

“Charlie.” He closes the small suitcase, zipping it closed. “It’s not fair to Dean for me to expect him to return my feelings. He’s built a life here, and I’m not part of it. It’s time.”

She looks down at her hands and nods, but he can tell she doesn’t agree. 

“I’ll be gone until after the 4th. Promise not to watch the new ep of Preacher without me?” 

“I promise nothing. You’re lucky Walking Dead isn’t airing right now, I would absolutely have watched it without you tonight.”

“Traitor.”

She gives him a sad smile as she gets up from the bed. “I hope you accomplish whatever you’re hoping to do there, Cas. Are you sure I can’t drive you to the airport?” 

“I have to return the rental anyway. You can pick me up when you get back and we’ll go California car shopping. Maybe I’ll buy a Prius.”

She smiles sadly, but the laugh he was hoping for doesn’t come. “Call me when you’re ready to talk about it, okay?”

“I will.”

An hour later he drops the car back at the airport rental and takes a shuttle to the terminal. It had been difficult to book a flight the weekend before a holiday, but he didn’t even flinch at the cost when Charlie had rattled it off to him. For once he’d been grateful to have the resources at his disposal for this desperate indulgence. He only has his carry on, so he gets through security easily and decides to spend the hour until the flight leaves lubricating his liver in the bar closest to the terminal.

He manages to ingest four very strong drinks in the time it takes for them to announce boarding, and he can feel a little wobble in his step as he approaches the attendant and lets them scan his ticket. He's glad when he finds his seat and drops into it with relief, and by the time they're in the air he's dozing and doesn't wake again until they're touching down. 

He follows the GPS in his rental carefully, though once he gets into his old hometown he hardly needs it. It’s just comforting to have the voice telling him where to go, removing the responsibility of this journey from him. Even so, he feels a slight chill in his bones when it tells him he has reached his destination, and he looks at his father’s house for the first time in five and a half years.

It takes everything Cas has not to pound on the door like a policeman with a warrant. Instead he rings the bell and waits as patiently as possible, his emotions a seething tumble inside him. He can hear shuffling on the other side, and then the blurred face of the house's occupant as it peers through the small glass window in the door. He can't make out the features very well, but he can tell the eyes go wide before the face disappears. There's nothing for a moment, and then he hears the door unlocking before it opens inward.

"Hello Castiel," Chuck says in evident surprise. He stares for a moment as he blinks up at Cas, then steps back and to the side. "Won't you come in?" Cas nods before moving through the doorway and standing in the hall as Chuck shuts the door behind him, then leans back against it for a moment as they regard one another. 

"Perhaps we could sit down?" Cas finally asks with the only shred of decorum he can muster, and Chuck visibly shakes himself before directing Cas into the formal living room. It hasn’t changed since the last time he was here, and his distaste for the room is still intact. Cas stands with his hands in his pockets until Chuck chooses a seat, a leather armchair with a high back, and then takes the matching armchair opposite him. A low table fills the space between them, its unassuming presence a poor symbol for all the barriers between them.

"What, uh, what brings you out here?" Chuck ventures, sitting tall in the chair like he's unable to relax. Cas himself leans his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he contemplates where to start. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, Castiel, I'm very happy about that. It's been a long time."

"Naomi told me you've been pleading your case to her," Cas starts, and Chuck hangs his head. "That's not what prompted me to finally come, though."

"Then why?" 

He pulls the envelope Sam gave him from his pocket, still folded in half along the original crease, except now it’s been opened. He hadn’t been able to do it himself. Charlie had confirmed the contents.

Chuck sighs as he looks at the envelope in his lap, not even touching it, and his whole body sinks into the chair as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want you to suffer the same fate I did with your mother.”

“I’m going to need a more detailed explanation.”

Chuck fidgets in the chair, and Castiel gets a sense of what it’s like to be a parent who’s scolding a child.

"First, I think I should tell you a little history that you don't know." He takes his hand away from his face but still can't look Cas in the eye. "Your mother and I met in freshman year of college, but we didn't start dating until a couple of years later. You know your grandfather always hated my writing, didn’t think it was a fitting profession. I think what drew me to her was that she was always extremely supportive, always eager to read what I was working on and talk things through with me." 

"I'm sorry, is this Rebecca we're talking about?" 

"Well, back then she was just Becky. Becky Rosen with her blue collar upbringing, whose parents took out a second mortgage on their house so that she could go to a really prestigious college." Cas can't keep the shock from his face. "She was always persistent and enthusiastic and sometimes even a little clingy, but it was everything my ego needed back then. So I asked her to marry me, and your grandfather went through the roof, telling me she was only after my family's money." 

Cas starts to understand. “He was right in the end, I suppose.”

"I never believed him at first, and didn't much care when he cut me off. I'd published my first novel by then, and had some of my own money coming in. It wasn't until you were born that Naomi got your grandfather to relent, welcome me back as a member of the family."

Cas can't keep the genuine curiosity out of his voice, now. "What happened with her, dad? What changed?"

"I've never really been sure if it was her plan all along, or if something in her fundamentally shifted after our status did. Her parents had both passed away by then, and she didn't have any other family. She started to throw herself into the same causes as Naomi, with the same fervent enthusiasm she used to have for my writing, but somewhere in there she just...changed." 

"Changed how?"

"To the kind of person who only cares about money and what it can do for you. She started going by Rebecca when you were four, and that's when it really hit me how different she was. I thought it was a phase, that maybe she'd snap out of it, but it just got worse and worse. We were already estranged by the time you hit your teens, sleeping in separate bedrooms. She wouldn't talk about divorce, because she knew it was much more to her benefit to be in the family than out of it. As for me...I didn't want to prove to your grandfather that he'd been right, so I held on until after he died. It was stupid of me, I know."

"And when you found out about Dean, you assumed he would be the same." 

Chuck closes his eyes and swallows heavily before he answers. 

"I didn't want that for you, Castiel. I would have done anything to spare you the humiliation of knowing someone was only with you for your money."

"How dare you make that assumption of someone you didn't even _know_ ," Cas hisses through his teeth, and Chuck has the good grace to look ashamed. "I never felt like Dean was with me for money, and it makes me sick that that's the _only_ thing you thought." 

"I know," Chuck whispers. "I panicked."

"He knew," Cas swallows and looks away, blinking tears from his eyes before he continues in a rough voice, "he knew that I loved him. That I would have done anything for him, if he'd let me. His brother hinted to me that there was something else, something more than the money. He never even used it, so what else did you threaten him with?" 

Chuck starts wringing his hands, and it brings Cas's eyes back to focus on him.

"I've wanted to tell you for some time," Chuck whispers, finally clasping his hands together and leaning on his knees. "I should have told you then, but I was so full of… self-righteousness."

"And now you're not?" Cas says incredulously.

"No," Chuck says, shaking his head. "No, I've realized I have great cause to be ashamed." Cas waits, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, emotions in turmoil but determined to show calm patience. "I pulled the same move as my own father, only I left you out of it. I told Dean that if he stayed with you I'd see to it that you were cut off from the family, from your trust fund. He didn't believe I could do that to my own son, so..." 

"So?" 

"So I told him you weren't actually my son," Chuck admits in a small voice. 

Cas feels the entire world beneath him fall away as his heart drops to his feet, and he grips the arms of the chair. 

" _What_?"

"It's not true," Chuck says hurriedly, holding up his hands. "I'm ashamed to say there was a time I thought it might be, because of some things your mother said to me out of spite.”

“That’s why you gave me the DNA test,” Cas says. “Naomi was so angry at you when I told her.”

“She told me that regardless of what any test said you were my son. She was right, of course.”

"But you told Dean differently," Cas says, understanding dawning on him. He stands up, pacing the length of the room as Chuck follows him with his eyes. "You told Dean I wasn't your son, and that you'd have me completely cut me off if he didn't go away, didn't you?" 

"Yes." It's just a whisper, but Cas hears it anyway. He stops to stare at the ceiling, hands on his hips. 

"You made him _choose_ ," he says in a voice thick with tears. "But he didn’t choose for himself. He chose for _me_. The choice between losing my money and my family and losing him -- and he sacrificed himself." 

"I gave him the check, mostly to alleviate my conscience. I didn't actually mean for you to find out, but when you did I thought it was for the best. That you'd think all he wanted was the money and you'd move on. I thought eventually you'd forgive me and see that I'd saved you from yourself." He gets up from his own chair, moving to face Castiel. "I was so wrong, Castiel. I was wrong about him and I hate myself for that, but I don't know how to fix it." 

Chuck crosses his arms, shuffling one foot against the wood floor before taking a huge breath and dropping his arms back to his sides. He braces himself and looks Cas in the eye.

"I expect you want to hit me, and I can't even ask you not to. I deserve it. Even your grandmother thinks so."

"Jesus Christ," Cas says. He moves back to the chair and collapses into it, suddenly unable to use his muscles to hold himself upright. "You forced the person I love to go away and leave me behind because of your own mistakes, your own tragic history." He puts his head in his hands, trying to calm himself. "I spent the last few years in turmoil, feeling like I couldn't trust anyone who professed to care about me. I changed my name to distance myself from you, and try to keep people from looking at me and seeing a bank account." 

Chuck sinks into the chair across from him, leaning on his elbows. "Castiel, how did you get the check now? Does that mean you've seen Dean? Did he finally," Chuck swallows and hangs his head. "Did he finally tell you it was all my fault? Are things okay between the two of you now?" There's a hopeful note in Chuck's voice, and for some reason that's the most painful thing he's dealt with all day.

"Dean has moved on, Dad," he says defeatedly. "It's been over five years, and he's got a life now that doesn't include me. So you got your wish, there. I hope you figure out how to live with it." He stands up, moving towards the exit, and Chuck makes no move to stop him. "I'll be here in Colorado for a few days, to try and put this behind me once and for all. I need to get away from you right now, but...I’ll come back later, when I’m calm.”

Chuck looks at him, sad eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I’d give anything if I could fix this for you." 

Cas nods before he slams out the front door, desperate for fresh air as he stumbles down the porch steps, bending over to brace himself on his knees as his vision swims before him.

 _Don't seek me out anymore, Cas._ Telling Cas to leave him be, because Dean didn't want to jeopardize his future.

 _I wouldn't have come, if I'd known. It's probably better if you pretend I didn't, Cas._ Still protective of him, even years later, even though he no longer wears Cas's ring and has undoubtedly moved on with his life.

"Oh, Dean," Cas breathes out as he stands and heads to the rental car. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”


	8. Chapter 8

_July, 2017_

It's later than usual on Monday when Dean gets back to the shop, and his equipment feels twice as heavy as he places it all carefully into the shed, locking up behind him before he moves his work truck to park in its designated spot before getting into the Impala to head home. He's grateful to be done for the day, and to be off for the Fourth of July tomorrow. Luckily, he doesn't run into Cain before he leaves, because he still hasn't figured out what to say to the man about what happened last week. He wants to explain about Cas but it feels too private, not something he's keen to share with his new business partner. 

These thoughts are all whirling through his mind as he drives home in the late afternoon, and he’s surprised to see that Sam is already there when he pulls into his driveway. 

“Hey Sammy,” he calls out as he comes through the door and heads into the kitchen. “Did they let you out early because of...” He stops in his tracks at the sight of his brother sitting rigidly at the kitchen table, his fingers laced together and sitting on an envelope. “What’s going on?” 

“I had a visitor at the office today,” Sam says, gesturing for him to sit down, waiting until Dean drops heavily onto the chair across from him before he continues. “I’m not sure if you remember her but she said you’ve spoken before, though you never actually met. Her name is Charlie. She’s friends with Cas.”

“What?” Dean practically shouts, and Sam holds his hands up defensively. Dean leans against the back of the chair for support, letting his head fall back as he stares at the ceiling. “I remember her. Did she come to make good on her threat? She once said she’d castrate me if I ever hurt him,” he says hoarsely, and Sam gives him a sad smile.

“So you do remember.”

“I remember everything to do with Cas,” he says, sitting up properly and leaning on the table. “Why did she come to see you? I’m confused.” 

Sam gives him a guilty look before dropping his gaze to his clasped hands. “I met both her and Cas a few weeks ago. They retained Hannah’s services for the new branch of their organization. That’s how they got your company’s info, from a list of recommendations she gave them.” He shuffles in his seat before he looks at Dean again. “I didn’t make the connection between Castiel Novak and your Cas. You never showed me what he looked like.” 

Dean looks away, startled by the sudden spike of tears in the corners of his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. "I didn’t have any pictures.” It was the hardest thing to deal with when he’d left, the realization that he didn’t have a single picture of Cas to take with him. He’d been too busy enjoying the time they spent together to even record any of it on his phone. “Can we get to the purpose of her visit? Because if she showed up to cause trouble at your workplace I’ll make a point to go and talk to Cas about it. She shouldn’t have…”

“Cas found out about the check soon after you left town.” 

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters, leaning to put his face in his hands. “Why didn’t he…” but he stops himself. He knows why Cas never came to look for him, and judging by his face so does Sam. “Is that what Charlie came to tell you? That Cas has always known I left him for money?”

“No, I found that part out myself when I spoke to him last week.”

“ _What_?” 

Sam’s face turns pink as it floods with shame and embarrassment. “I made the connection the other night when you told me his new last name, so when he and Charlie came in for a scheduled appointment I had a little, uh, _discussion_ with him.”

“He never did anything wrong! I’m not a fourteen year old girl, Sam, I don’t need you to protect my honor.”

“I know, okay? I’m sorry! All I could think about was how he didn’t come after you, and it made me so mad. I was trying to get up the courage to ask him why and he blurted out that he knew about the money. He thinks you chose me and my future over him! He said he understood why and wanted to respect your choice. He didn’t know anything about what Chuck really said to you. He seems to think you just didn’t care enough about him to stick around until he came into real money.”

Dean hangs his head and tries not to show how much that statement hurts. “Yeah, well. I can’t say I blame him for thinking that. It was probably for the best in the end.”

“How so?”

Dean stands up to pace. "I'm still the same guy I was then: still doing a job where I get dirty every single day, still barely educated, still barely getting by.”

"If you're barely getting by, why didn't you ever cash the check?" Dean comes to a complete stop, leaning against the nearest chair. “Why, Dean, really?” 

"I just couldn't. It felt like giving in. Like putting a price on what he meant to me."

Sam studies him for a moment, but Dean can’t meet his eyes. 

“You still love him, don’t you?” 

“It doesn’t matter, Sam. Cas has moved on, he's doing well for himself, and I'm sure he has a great life with whoever gave him his new name." He leans against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself.

"Charlie told me that the day after their graduation, Cas started the process to legally change his name to Novak because he was so disgusted with Chuck." 

"He's not…?" He can’t keep the hopefulness out of his voice, and Sam gives him a sad smile.

"No, he's not. Novak is his grandmother’s maiden name." Relief and joy wash over Dean like a wave, and he's glad of the wall he’s leaning against because he thinks he might pass out. 

“I thought I saw a ring on his finger, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” 

“It’s _yours._ Charlie told me that he’s never without it.” Dean grasps at his own ring, hidden under his shirt, and Sam finally unclasps his hands and leans back. “I gave Cas a hell of a talking to about you, put the check in his very hands and told him to go have a heart to heart talk with his father.”

“What?” Dean slams his hands on the table. “I never should have told you where I hid it. How could you, Sam? It’s going to _kill_ him to learn the truth.”

“Chuck lied to you," Sam says carefully. "Castiel is his biological son. It was just a ruse to get you out of his life.” Dean can feel his legs go weak, and he lowers himself back into the chair and puts his face in his hands. “It was obvious Cas didn’t know the truth about what he said to you, and I sent him to find out. He _deserved_ to know, and according to Charlie, he does now.” 

“Why’d she come to tell you all this?”

Sam grimaces a little before he answers. “She is the most terrifying person I’ve ever encountered when angry, and I have at least a foot and probably a hundred pounds on her.” He rubs his face with his hands, then leans into his crossed arms on the table. “She was angry at me for the way I spoke to him, but once she got that off her chest we talked a lot of things through.” He stands up and moves next to Dean, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“What things?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Cas loves you, Dean. He never stopped, and because of that he can't seem to be happy with anyone else, and he _deserves_ to be." Dean is shaking his head, but Sam doesn’t stop talking. "You deserve to be happy, too, Dean. If you still care at all, you should go to him. He thinks you've moved on and there's no place in your life for him anymore. If that's not the case he needs to know, because he's been saving a place for you for years now."

"Okay," Dean says, taking several deep breaths. "Okay. I know his address, I'll just head over there and..."

"He's not there," Sam says, reaching over to grab the envelope off the table. "He went back to Colorado to confront Chuck, and she told me he’d be there for a few days.” He takes a deep breath and then holds out the envelope. Dean takes it with a weird sense of deja vu.

“It was presumptuous of her, but she booked you on a flight for tomorrow morning, and arranged for a car rental for you. I trust you remember the house. You'll find him there." 

"Why there?" Dean says, not reaching out. “Why can’t I just wait for him to come back?”

“He's trying to put you behind him for good,” Sam says. “He's trying to get closure after all this time. He told Charlie he’s staying in Colorado to put you behind him once and for all.”

Dean takes the papers, holding them limply in his hands. "I hate to fly," he says weakly.

"I told her that, and she said she can arrange a car service to leave tonight instead"

"No," Dean says, standing up. "That’s too reminiscent of when Chuck got me to leave. I'll manage." 

Sam gives him an assessing look before he throws his arms around Dean, and he hugs him back tightly before he can help himself.

“He needs you, Dean,” Sam whispers in his ear. 

“I need him, too,” he says. “I hope I’m not too late.”

The plane lands in Colorado without incident, but Dean still thinks it's a miracle he hasn't broken any fingers given how hard he was gripping the armrests for the entire flight. In fact, his hands hurt a little as he grabs his duffel bag out of the overhead bin, and as soon as he gets into the terminal he slings it across his shoulder as he follows the signs for car rental.

As promised, there's a car waiting in his name, and he's relieved at how quickly he gets through the process and onto the road. He hasn't been back here since the night he left, five and a half years ago now. Then he was being driven out of town, filled with despair and sorrow on the way to an uncertain future. Now it feels like he's heading towards hope, like the drive back to the place he left is rolling back the years and the mistakes and all the things he didn't say. 

_He's trying to put you behind him for good_ , Sam had said. _He's trying to get closure._

Dean didn’t have the heart to yell at him for meddling after he’d been pulled into a hug. Sam just said he’d help him pack and drive him to the airport in the morning, and Dean couldn’t do anything but nod in agreement.

It feels odd to pull up to the Shurley residence, unchanged after all this time. Even the flowers look identical, although it's getting dark now. He doesn't see a car but the garage doors are closed, so he parks at the front door like he did the first time he came here exactly six years ago. He jogs up the steps to the door, frantically ringing the bell before cupping his face around his hands to peer through the glass. The interior is completely dark, and he doesn't see anyone shifting around in the hall as though they're hiding, but he bangs on the door for good measure.

There's no answer, and he heads to the gate that encloses the back of the house.

"Cas?" he calls out, listening for any movement, but hears nothing. "Fuck, where could he be?"

He heads back to the car, an idea coming to him as he gets behind the wheel, but he's disappointed again when he gets to the diner. Not only isn't Cas there, but neither is the diner, which has been torn down and smoothed over into a parking lot. He sits in the lot, tapping his fingers on the keyboard. He's certainly not going to be at Bobby's garage, and the country club doesn't seem likely. So where would Cas go? 

He pulls out onto the street with the idea to head back to the house and wait when he sees a flash of light in his rearview mirror.

"Of course," he says to himself, making the next turn, navigating to a place he never thought he'd see again, though it has been vivid in his mind for years. He turns off the main road onto a narrow lane, turns again, following directions memorized long ago and never forgotten. He slows down as he approaches his destination, switching to just his parking lights, and isn't surprised to make out another car ahead. 

He shuts everything off as he gets out. The other car is parked facing away, and as Dean approaches he can make out a lone figure sitting on the hood of the car, silhouetted against the fireworks display in the night sky. 

Cas has his back to Dean, with one foot pulled up onto the hood and his arms around his knee as he rests his chin on it. He's gazing up at the lights, but when Dean gets into his peripheral vision he startles and gets off the hood. 

"Dean!" He's obviously surprised and takes a step backward before he turns away, wiping at his face. "What are you doing here?" His voice is hoarse, and he puts his hands in his pockets as he resolutely faces away from him. Dean approaches stands beside him, looking up into the sky before he speaks.

"Charlie sent me," he says, and he can hear Cas's sharp intake of breath even over the fireworks. "She said you can kill her when you get back.”

He can tell Cas is looking at him now, but instead he looks at his hand, at the circle of bronze that’s still on the third finger of his right hand.

"Why do you still wear it, Cas?" he asks, finally looking up to meet his gaze. Cas stares at him, eyes unreadable, backlit by the fireworks in a way that makes him seem ethereal, unreal. 

"To remind me," Cas says.

“Of what?” 

Now there’s no mistaking the look in his eyes as they turn to flint, and he takes a step back. “Of what it feels like when other people make choices for me that they have no business making.”

“Cas, your dad…”

“Is not the only person guilty of making life decisions for me without my consent,” Cas spits out, taking another step back when Dean reaches out to him. “You had no _right_ to assume what I wanted, Dean! You kept me in the dark and let me think I wasn’t good enough because you treated me like a child that needed protection!”

Dean’s hands fall to his sides because Cas is right. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“What did you _think_ would happen, Dean?” Cas shouts, clenching his fists at his sides. “That I’d shrug my shoulders and consider it a relief that you were gone?”

“No, of course not! I thought it would be worse for you to lose your connection to your family, to your fortune, to all your plans for the future!”

“ _You_ were my future!” Cas stops, his breathing labored as he takes in gulps of air, and Dean turns away to rub the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the sting of threatening tears. When Cas speaks again Dean can barely hear him over the fireworks in the distance. “You took that away from me without any consideration for how I felt about it. Why?”

Dean loses the battle against his emotions as he feels his eyes well up, and he wipes at them before he turns back to face Cas. He’s had a long time to think about his actions back then, to dissect his reasoning, and one thing has become abundantly clear to him over the years.

“I was sure that, given the choice, you wouldn’t pick me,” he says, shame and defeat coloring every word that leaves his mouth. “You had all these plans based around the day you came into your own, and I didn’t think I could compete with that, not really. I was afraid that if you _did_ pick me you’d regret it someday. And I didn’t want to see your face if you _didn’t_ pick me.” 

Dean hears the whistle and crack of three different fireworks exploding in the distance before Cas takes a step forward.

“You bastard.” Dean looks up at him, at the livid anger in his face, unable to muster an argument. “You let your own feelings of worthlessness affect your judgement, and took away from me the only thing that really mattered.”

“I know,” Dean says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

Cas turns away from him then, crossing his arms and gazing out at the blazing sky. “Is that why you came all this way? To say that you’re sorry?” Dean doesn’t answer, and Cas hangs his head. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

"I have a reminder, too," Dean says quietly. Cas looks over his shoulder, a question on his face, and Dean pulls the cord out of his shirt. Cas turns slowly, reaching out to take the ring from Dean’s fingers and examine it in the multi-colored light from above. Their fingers brush as he does, and Dean’s breath catches. For him the touch is still electric, and he feels it in his core. Cas moves a few inches closer, but to Dean it feels like a chasm has been crossed, the running water of lost years moving through as they bridge it with touch.

"Why?" Cas asks him, tilting his head. 

"So I could always remember when I was happy," Dean replies softly. "So I would never really lose you." He reaches out, but stops short of contact. "Have I? Lost you?"

Cas takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, his free hand coming up to press against Dean’s chest. The warmth of that palm on his heart spreads through Dean, and he dares to hope for just a moment, but Cas pushes against his chest and steps back before turning away from him. Dean suddenly feels cold to his bones, despite the July air and the fire spreading throughout the sky. He drops his head, wondering if he should just go, but then Cas speaks, and though his voice is sure there's a tremor in it that he can't hide.

"Why did you really come here?"

Dean remembers how, years ago, he'd planned to make his confession against a backdrop such as this. It seems like perfect symmetry, now, to tell Castiel the one thing he should never have waited to say.

"Because I love you, Cas," he breathes out, finally, the words that have been bottled within him for years finally breaking free like bubbles in champagne. He can hear the sharp intake of breath, but Cas doesn't turn around. "I wanted to tell you. Had it all elaborately planned out for the night of the party, and when you told me how you felt I was even more determined to wait until then, to make it special. To tell you in a way that wasn't just a response." He leans against the hood of Castiel's car, hands in his pockets. "Am I too late?" he asks sadly. 

He doesn't register the movement Cas makes before he realizes he's standing before him, that Cas is cradling his jaw in one hand and kissing him. It starts softly, with trembling lips and shaking breaths, and then they're no longer holding back. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, desperate to feel him again after all this time. Cas grips his bicep with one hand and twines the fingers of his other in Dean's hair, angling him to deepen their kiss to his liking until they finally have to break away from one another to catch their breath. 

"You’re too late to pick up from where we were,” Cas says, and Dean nods sadly, preparing himself for rejection. Cas cups his cheek, and leans in to kiss him again softly, a promise. “But if you’d like to start again, I think I can be convinced.”

Dean wakes in the early morning light confused for a minute, wondering where he is, but then realization takes hold as he feels the body curled up behind him. 

_Cas_.

He moves back a little, pulling Castiel's arm around him more firmly, and smiles at the disgruntled noise he makes as he nuzzles sleepily into Dean's neck. They’d been up for hours just talking, and then he’d followed Cas back to the house where they’d crashed in his old bedroom. It looks just the same as it did five years ago, and as Dean watches him sleeping he can almost convince himself that no time has passed since those days, that this is the same Cas he knew then. 

His breathing evens out, and Dean lets the soft rhythm of it lull him back to sleep. It's not until a few hours later that he wakes again, half-hard and blinking against the light coming through slats in the blinds. He turns on his back and realizes the bed is empty, but then he hears the water running in the bathroom and Cas spitting toothpaste into the sink and he relaxes.

 _I can't believe I'm really here,_ he thinks to himself, putting his hands behind his head. He's still smiling when Cas comes out of the bathroom and gives him an assessing look. 

"If you want to brush your teeth really fast," he says in a gravelly morning voice that Dean does _not_ remember him having before, "I can make it worth your while to come back to bed afterward." 

Dean leaps up and rushes into the bathroom, leaving a laughing Cas behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, trying not to smile around the toothbrush so he can get the job done, until he finally spits into the sink and rinses. 

Cas is lying on the bed above the sheets, and Dean can't help his hitch of breath at the sight of him. Last night he'd been too tired, too overwhelmed to appreciate being near Cas again, but now he's well-rested and wants to look his fill. Cas gives him a look like a question mark, but then he catches on and stretches languorously like a cat. Dean is transfixed by the play of muscles under his skin: the way his calves flex as he points his toes, the thick definition of his thighs, the dance of his pectoral muscles as he extends his arms above his head. It's all at once and not at all like the body Dean committed to memory all those years ago; firmer now, more mature and defined in a way it hadn't been before, a remastered edition of a classic. 

"I feel like I need to learn you all over again," he says huskily. 

"Well, I don't think you're going to get a good start from over there," Cas whispers, and Dean crawls onto the bed to hover over him.

"Maybe we should," he starts to say, but Cas cuts him off with a soft kiss, just a brush of their lips against one another before he reaches up to cup the back of Dean's neck and press their lips more firmly together. "Cas," he says breathlessly when they break apart. "It's been a long time. Do you think we..." and suddenly, before he realizes it, he's flat on his back with Cas on top of him, and he blinks up at him in surprise. "Wow."

"Dean," Cas says, the tone of his voice deadly. "If you're about to say 'maybe we should take it slow' I just might have to gag you." Dean's dick twitches between them as Cas pins his wrists, and that's a kink he didn't even know he had. "We took it so slow the first time around that the emotional investment to sex ratio was completely imbalanced." He leans into Dean, pressing their bodies together intimately. "As far as I'm concerned, there was a huge deficit in place _before_ we spent years apart, wishing we could be together. So if you don't mind, I have every intention of spending as much time as humanly possible fucking your brains out while we figure out how to fit back into each other's lives."

"Fuck," Dean gasps out, half-hard already even though they've barely even kissed so far.

"That's the general idea," Cas says, raising an eyebrow. "Do I have your consent?" 

"Jesus Christ, Cas, are you going to make me fill out a form next? I consent, I consent all over the fucking place." Cas doesn't say anything else, but he kisses Dean so fiercely that it feels like the bed might go up in flames around them. He thinks that might be a great way to die, all things considered.

Cas moves to trail heated kisses across his throat and rake his teeth over a collarbone before moving to Dean's nipples, already hard and desperately begging for attention. He circles his tongue around one as he traces the other with his fingers, and Dean gasps and squirms beneath him with pleasure. Now he's fully hard, but he clutches at the pillow under his head, determined to just let Cas do whatever he wants without interference. 

Cas continues downward, his heated breath stoking a fire all along Dean's happy trail, mouthing wet kisses over his stomach as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs. Dean pants heavily as he watches the slow descent of his briefs, the elastic dragging over his hips, then to the tops of his thighs as his cock blissfully springs free of its confines. Cas ignores his hard-on for now, but continues in his mission to get Dean naked until he pulls the cotton off completely and throws it on the floor. He sits back on his heels, his own erection now obviously straining against his underwear, and just looks at Dean splayed before him. 

"Dean," he says huskily. "You're more stunning than I remember." He runs his fingers lightly across the arch of a foot, and Dean shivers as those fingers continue upwards. They delicately stroke up his calf, brush the inside of his knee, and then Cas runs them up the inside of his thigh. Dean feels like he's vibrating at a high frequency, every inch of his skin fine-tuned to touch, and he moans when Cas runs a single finger up the length of his shaft. He traces a finger around the glans, coating it with pre-come. Dean finally releases the pillowcase and moves his hands to touch his own nipples, and Cas's eyes darken at the sight.

"I want you, Cas," he gasps out, circling his hardened nubs with his thumbs, but Cas just keeps tracing the head of his cock with that finger. Dean reaches out to take Cas's other hand, pulling at it until Cas takes the hint and stretches out beside him. Dean rolls him onto his back and deftly removes his underwear at ten times the speed he lost his own, then stretches beside him, pulling Cas to face him by a hip.

They kiss searingly, and Cas reaches down to pull Dean's leg over his hip as their cocks brush one another. Cas rubs a finger over Dean's furled muscle as he throws back his head and moans. 

"You're so sensitive," Cas growls out, pressing harder as he continues to rub and Dean whimpers. 

"No one," he gasps out, "no one has touched me there since you."

Cas freezes completely, staring at him in shock, and then leans in to kiss him as he gently rolls Dean onto his back again.

"If I have my way," he says heatedly, "no one else will." 

He moves quickly, and before Dean knows it his cock is enveloped in the silky, wet heat of Cas's mouth and he cries out his name. Cas holds him down at the hips as he worships his cock, taking him in slowly, so slowly, then pulling off in a long suck before diving down again. He goes a little further than the time before, pulls off leisurely, then goes a little further still, over and over again until his nose is brushing against Dean's skin and he thinks he might lose his mind. Cas hums every time Dean hits the back of his throat, then swallows around him.

"Cas," he gasps out, toes curling as the heat in his stomach builds to a crescendo. "Cas, you need to stop, I'm going to..." but Cas reaches up to pinch one of his nipples, which effectively shuts him up and topples him over the edge, and he comes on Cas's tongue with a loud cry.

He pants heavily, closing his eyes against the light, every inch of him alive in a way it hasn't been for years. Cas suckles at the tip of him until he's perfectly clean, then pulls off before it gets too sensitive, and Dean hisses as the air hits the wet skin of his cock. Cas stretches up beside him, leaning on one elbow and giving Dean a look of such smug satisfaction that he has to reach up and pull him into a kiss, chasing the taste of himself on Cas's lips. 

"God, I've missed you," he says, leaning into Cas and rolling on top of him. "And now I'm going to demonstrate exactly how much." Cas gives him a wicked grin, and Dean clasps their hands together as he snakes down to nuzzle against Cas's rock hard member. He licks a wet stripe from base to tip, looking up at the sharp inhale of breath from Cas, and then he winks before he moves to take in as much of him as he can.

Cas grips his hands tightly as he tenses every muscle in his body, keeping himself as still as possible under Dean's ministrations. Dean swirls his tongue around the head on every upstroke, finally pulling one of his hands free to circle Cas's length and stroke it every time he pulls off to lick and suckle at the tip. Cas just keeps saying his name over and over like a litany, and Dean removes his other hand to cup his balls and stroke against his perineum, pressing a finger into it as Cas gasps. He can feel Cas get close, feel the way his balls tighten up just as he's about to come, and then Cas says his name with a tone of warning. Dean takes all of him down as far as he can as he brushes his fingers down his cleft, and Cas jerks a little. Dean presses an arm over his hips to keep him in place, pulling off slowly, circling his tongue, and then then taking him in again completely as he strokes his opening hard with the pad of his finger.

Cas comes with a shout, hips jerking against Dean's arm as he swallows down everything, rubbing against him the entire time. All of Cas's muscles relax suddenly and he collapses into the bed, throwing an arm over his face as Dean pulls off him with a grin. He holds onto his hips as he kisses up the length of his stomach, watching the muscles jerk in reflex. He tongues one pink nipple, taking it onto his mouth and sucking, and Cas removes his arm to take Dean by the shoulders, pulling him up for a kiss. 

The tangle their tongues together lazily as Dean rolls onto his side, pulling Cas against him. 

"I really think we need a shower," Cas finally says as they break apart, and Dean laughs before rolling off the bed to try and beat him into the bathroom.

_New Year's Eve, 2017_

"Are you sure you don't want to go do something fancy?" Dean asks as he sits next to Cas on the couch at his place, flipping through the channels. Since coming back together at the beginning of July, they've been learning one another again. Not just each other's bodies, although they have been, enthusiastically and with vigor. No, it's more about re-learning each other as the people they've become over the years, how they've each been affected by their experiences. By some unspoken agreement, they've acted like a new couple who are just dating, trying to navigate their relationship without all the baggage that came before. 

It took three months before Dean was ready to tell Cas he loved him again, more sure of it than he'd ever been. They'd been at an event for the charity, and Cas was smiling with joy as he watched the faces of the little league kids that his organization had done so much for. Hive Landscaping were sponsoring one of the teams, and Cain was wandering the new ballfield dressed in a dark cap and yellow polo shirt like Walter Matthau (though he'd refused to let Dean put _Chico's Bail Bonds_ on the back of their jerseys).

Dean had been bowled over with it in that moment, that he could love someone so much for so long, could be so lucky as to have them in his life again. He'd pulled Cas behind the dugout, pushing him gently against the back of it and caging him in with his arms. 

"I love you, Cas," he said, and his heart skipped a beat at the joy that lit up Cas's face, the way his eyes crinkled and his eyes sparkled. 

"I love you, too, Dean," he said, reaching up to cup his face and give him a sweet kiss. 

They still haven’t moved in together, but Cas spends just as much time at Dean's little bungalow as they do at his own house. He'd marveled at all the work Dean had done the first time he'd been there, messing up all of Dean's plans to get him naked and in bed as quickly as possible by insisting he be shown everything. 

It hadn't taken long for Dean and Charlie to become thick as thieves, and Cas often has to shake his head over their antics.

Now it's their first New Year's Eve together, and Dean wanted to go all out to make it special. He'd felt the need to make it up to Cas for the one they'd never gotten to have together, but Cas had resisted his every attempt to make plans. Charlie had elected to go to San Francisco for the weekend, and Sam had made plans with Jess, so it’s just the two of them at home in their sweatpants watching TV.

"I wish you'd stop pestering me, Dean," Cas says good-naturedly, handing Dean the remote control in defeat as he leans over his crossed legs to grab popcorn out of the bowl. "I'm exactly where I want to be." He leans back, changing his position to curl up next to Dean, who lifts an arm to wrap around his shoulders as he finally selects the usual New Year’s Eve program and puts down the remote. Five minutes until the ball drops on the East Coast. 

"Hey, uh, there's something I wanted to ask you," Dean says nervously, and Cas hums in acknowledgement around the popcorn in his mouth. "I, uh, I was hoping we could maybe talk about, um, moving in together?" Cas turns to look at him, but Dean just keeps looking straight ahead. "I don't want to assume I could move in here unless you and Charlie talked about it first, and I know that my place isn't as nice as this, but Sam is talking about moving in with Jess this summer and so he wouldn't be there and..." Cas reaches up to put a finger over his lips. 

"Dean," he says. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, too, and it might help your nervousness if you let me do that before I answer you."

"Okay." Cas sits up for a second, putting his hand into the corner of the couch and pulling out a small box. He turns it over in his hands as he leans back into Dean, who seems to have forgotten how to breathe.

"I know we wasted a lot of time," he says thoughtfully, "through no fault of our own, but even so. These last six months have just made me even more certain of something I felt sure of years ago." Dean kisses him on the temple and exhales into his hair. "It doesn't matter to me where we choose to live, in whose house, or a new one we choose together. As long as I'm with you, then I'm exactly where I belong." He slides off the couch in a graceful movement and kneels at Dean's feet, popping open the box that holds a simple, silver band. "Will you marry me, Dean?"

Dean blinks rapidly at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, nodding his head as he drops off the couch to kneel in front of Cas. He frames his face and kisses him softly before he wraps his arms around him, holding him close. "Yes," he says as Cas's arms come around his back. 

In the background, people are cheering as confetti rains over them, a brilliant celebration happening on the other side of the country, but to Dean it feels like the soundtrack of his own heart as he pulls back to kiss Cas before he slips the ring on his finger. 


End file.
